Broken Family
by Comana
Summary: The Styne Family is not extinct yet, there is still a branch of the family tree left that is out for revenge on Dean. However, they differ from the rest of the family. Meanwhile, Sam desperately tries to save his brother and gets entangled in the mess. Set in season 11.
1. Chapter 1

Broken Family

Summary: The Styne Family is not extinct yet, there is still a branch of the family tree left that is out for revenge on Dean. However, they differ from the rest of the family. Set in season 11.

Spoiler alert: This takes place during the eleventh season of supernatural, so there are spoilers for everything that happened until The Bad Seed. I'm not focussing on these things, they are not a big part of the story, but it could happen that I mention them.

AN: So I originally wanted to finish my Avengers story, but Supernatural hit me straight in the face and I can't shake it off, so here is my first Supernatural story, it's angsty with lots of Dean and also Sam, I hope you like it!  
By the way, this story takes place after The Bad Seed, so Castiel is still sick and won't play a big role here.

Warnings: Rated T for swearing and graphic description of violence

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of Supernatural *sigh*

 **Chapter 1**

Dean turned up the Volume of _Rocky Mountain Way_. He's had a long day, his eyes were heavy and he still had 200 miles to drive back to the bunker. The music helped a bit and he forced his eyes to stay open, taking in the straight dark road, nothing to focus on, just the dark shades of the trees to each side, lit dimly by the full moon.

Maybe he should have just stayed at a motel on the way, but he was uncomfortable leaving Sam alone in the bunker with his books. Sure, it was Dean who proposed that Sam stayed in the bunker, doing research on the Darkness while he went out to hunt a ghost. And in this course of action, Sam could keep an eye on the still regenerating Cas who had barely been more than a moody heap of blankets during the last two days.

Now that it was over, Dean realized how much he had needed the simple act of hunting to relax him after the overall weird stuff that was going on with the Mark of Cain and the Darkness. Just an easy vengeful spirit that terrorized his descendants. And the ghost had resided in a ship in a bottle of all things. Weird but luckily easy to burn.

Dean sighed and gripped the wheel tighter. Sam also needed some distraction, or he would strain himself until he broke. And that was something Dean definitely didn't want to see again. It had been enough when some imagined Lucifer stayed with them in their rooms, thank you very much.

He would find some ghouls or maybe vampires – chopping heads off was a great outlet for pent-up anger and whatever emotions Sammy was feeling. They would definitely do their next case together, screw the Darkness and everything with it, there was no immediate threat of it anyway. Sam just needed some good old hunting-  
Dean suddenly had to squint his eyes when the car behind him flashed his lights and blinded him through the mirror. The hunter cursed and adjusted the mirror, he hated those pickup-driving assholes who thought the road belonged to them alone. Why couldn't the jerk just overtake him if he wanted to speed so badly? Then Dean saw that the taillights of the car before him increased with a frightening speed. He didn't even have time to curse, all he could do was hit the brakes and turn the wheel as fast as he could. Maybe it would be enough to avoid the car. Maybe the car behind him was not as close as it seemed to be…

However, his small shivers of hope were scrunched on the ground.

The first impact was from the car behind him and his neck strained when the car shoved into his baby and nullified most of his braking. The distance was not enough that his car could effectively steer to the side and Dean could only brace his arms against the wheel, teeth gritted, knuckles white, and watch in horror as he was shoved into the car before him.

The second impact was worse. Much worse. He heard metal twisting, glass shattering and tires screeching, a shower of shards hit his upper body and his seatbelt dug into his hips sharply. Then a sharp twist and pain in his left leg and a sudden overwhelming force that slammed everything to a standstill.

AN: Yeah, I know, I crashed the Impala, I'm a bad person *runs away from angry Dean with his hammer*  
Anyway, please let me know what you think and leave a review :). The next chapter will be longer, I promise!


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Thanks for all the alerts and the reviews for the first chapter, I'm really fast this time and give you the second chapter right now :)

 _The second impact was worse. Much worse. He heard metal twisting, glass shattering and tires screeching, a shower of shards hit his upper body and his seatbelt dug into his hips sharply. Then a sharp twist and pain in his left leg and a sudden overwhelming force that slammed everything to a standstill._

 **Chapter 2**

The next thing Dean knew was nausea that hit him as soon as he regained a little consciousness and pain at every little move of his neck. Dean couldn't see much in the darkness around him, but he quickly jumped into survival mode when he remembered the crash. That had been an intended crash and he was the victim. His right hand searched for his gun that had been on the passenger's seat while his left hand tried to open the door.

Dean let out a full litany of curses when he realized that his baby's door was so twisted that it wouldn't open. With great effort he opened his seatbelt and searched for his gun with both hands at the floor of the car, nearly puking in the process. When he finally grazed something heavy with his fingers he nearly sighed with relief. But before he could grab his gun, arms pulled him upright again and pressed him into his seat. _Where did those arms even come from?_ Dean whipped his head to his left, but was only rewarded with pain in his neck and spinning colours. When Dean's gaze focused again he could see a red lit figure standing right beside his car, arms reaching through the broken window. They began to pull him up, regripping him under his shoulders to drag him through the window. Dean struggled fiercely but all he got was a painful reminder that his left leg was somehow injured and some nasty scraps on his lower back when he unintentionally wriggled his protective jacket up and was dragged over the shards on the window frame.

He was in deep shit.

He made a last attempt to free himself when he was dragged the last inches out of the window. Dean used his right leg to kick against the car with all the force he could muster, sending the person that was dragging him and himself off balance and to the hard asphalt of the road. But if Dean knew something, it was how to fight. He quickly spun around and slammed his fist against the head of his attacker. He couldn't see much as it was still dark and the only light was red and dim, but his attacker was not out yet. And he had pulled a gun from somewhere. But Dean was faster, the blood rushing in his ears as he gripped the hand holding the weapon with both of his hands and slammed it on the road with all his force. He heard something crack and a pained cry from his opponent as the gun clattered away. Dean wanted to go after it instinctively but realized that his leg wouldn't support his weight enough to reach it. So he placed his arm on the man's throat instead, pushing and ignoring the left hand of his attacker that clawed fiercely at his arm. Just a few more seconds and his attacker would lose consciousness.

Something cold and hard touched him at the back of his head and sent icy shivers of fear through his whole body. _Shit!_ He should have heard that there was a second attacker, hell if he had thought about everything for one second he would have known instantly that one attacker couldn't drive two cars. _How can one be so stupid?_ He gritted his teeth, slowly lifting his arm from the throat of the first attacker. Maybe that would leave him a bit of a plus factor and his brain wouldn't be spattered all over the place in the next second.

"I wanna see your hands. Lift them slowly," the hunter had expected such a command, but he hadn't expected a female voice uttering it. He swallowed and slowly lifted his hands, breath hitching for a second when the gun shifted a quarter of an inch. Finally the gun was drawn back, but he was sure that it still pointed straight at his head.  
"Stand up and move to the car," the voice commanded and Dean complied. He was still awkwardly straddling the guy that began to regain his senses and he guessed it would be better to be out of his reach quickly. He stood up and wavered when he put weight on his left ankle, but he could stand. Dean walked to the wreck of his car, awkwardly slow because he neither trusted his ankle nor did he trust the psyche of the chick with the gun. He placed his hands on the roof of the Impala, maybe the only part that was more or less intact – he couldn't make out a lot in the darkness but it looked like it would need a lot of time to fix it – at least it was not as bad as when the demon had hit her from the side. His thoughts were interrupted by voices, the chick again.

"Ron, you good?"

"Yeah, dirtbag nearly strangled me, but you had good timing," his voice sounded strained, Dean noted a bit satisfied.

Dean let the dirtbag comment go, more thinking of what he could do right now. He guessed that he was out of immediate mortal peril since those people obviously wanted him alive.

He deemed it safe to risk a look, hands still unmoving on his car. Both his attackers were in their thirties, the man with dark hair and a slight stubble and the woman was actually hot. Long blond hair and a slender figure. Dean might have tried to get her number…well, if she wore something other than her dishonourable-discharge-from-the-army-outfit and if she was not in the process of holding him at gunpoint and kidnapping him. Sometimes his brain was really messed up. At least he could blame it on whiplash injury this time.

The guy, Ron, came over now and searched him for weapons. Only with his left hand but pretty accurately. That was the reason he found both of his knives, cell, lockpick and a flask of holy water, the son of a bitch. Dean was officially out of weapons by now.

Ron grabbed his hands and bound them tightly behind his back with zip ties. Dean's hands slowly got slick from the blood that was still seeping through his clothes from the cuts at his back.

"So, crashing other people's cars and kidnapping them – is this some crazy hobby of yours or what?" Dean asked, trying to get any scrap of information on what he was dealing with.

"You shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you," the chick spat. Maybe he wouldn't have gone for her number, with that attitude. Dean raised his eyebrows seductively, preparing for a kiss-my-ass answer, when he saw something small glisten in her hand. He couldn't be sure, but he had a strong suspicion what it was. She must have seen his face falter, because she gave him a big smile, showing all white teeth, and strolled closer. She positioned herself right before him, left hand reaching for his cheek while the right one showed him the syringe she was carrying.

"Well, _Dean_ -" she emphasized the name, making clear that the maniac car-crash-couple had targeted him specifically. Just his luck. It would be nice if he could once be involved in a normal accident without anyone selectively trying to murder him.

" – you either play along and don't make a sound or I'll give you this," she waggled the syringe unnecessarily, "I was told it changes people into slobbering heaps for hours…so what do you say, you want some of it?"

Dean was not sure if it was a trick question, so he went for the safe answer and just shook his head. He hated injections, and being a slobbering heap was certainly a hindrance for escaping, so he hoped the chick was not a sadistic bitch and injected it anyway.

Her smile grew even bigger and her hand patted his cheek. "Good boy, now come over here," she took his arm and guided him to the car in front of his. Dean really had a hard time not cursing the bitch with every expletive he knew, treating him as if he were her dog or something. He took some deep breaths and reached the car, a red SUV with an apparently pretty sturdy backside. It just spotted some dents and scrapes while his baby's hood was severely distorted. Another curse threatened to come over his lips but he controlled himself. Was it by the way too much to ask that some normal person would drive by and call the police? There should be people driving on the street, shouldn't they?

"You stay there and don't move," his captor commanded. If she gave him any more of that dog shit he would maybe strangle her, arms tied behind his back or not.

She went over to talk to Ron, and Dean looked for a way to escape, but it was pointless. Bonnie and Ron – or more likely Ronnie and Clyde - were standing just out of earshot, but with his cuffed hands and still hurting ankle he could do jack shit.

Ron went to the other car that sandwiched his, a pickup that also seemed to be red in the dim moonlight. He attached a tow-hook to his Impala and began pulling her from the street, in the process distorting her rear even more.

"Hey, don't you think you already ruined my car enough?!" Dean couldn't help his angry outburst. This day kept getting worse, he had an accident, was being kidnapped and now they kept on mutilating his car.

The woman was right back, waving her syringe again while placing her index finger over her lips. Dean mentally enjoyed the image of him breaking the bitch's nose with a headbutt for some seconds, but he composed himself again. He just pursed his lips and shot her an angry look. She shoved him to the side and opened the trunk of the SUV. Dean, curious what she was going to get went a step closer to the trunk, when he was grabbed and hardly shoved against it. His knees gave in and he awkwardly landed on his stomach halfway inside the trunk. Dean really wanted to kick himself for his stupidity. _Fuck, did they seriously plan to lock him in the trunk?_ His question was answered by a zip tie that bound his feet together. _Son of a bitch!_ He was so done with this day.

The chick shoved his feet inside and he laid on his side facing her.

"So, the rules for the ride are very simple," she began, "You stay quiet and I won't be forced to make you quiet, ok?"

Dean nodded. She shifted her weight, as if indecisive. Then she took off her bandana (camouflage pattern, what else?) and tied it around Dean's mouth. _The hell?_ He had acted harmless and she gagged him anyway? What was wrong with that chick?

He could now see that Ron was finished with pulling his damaged baby from the road, and the chick's face, lit by the red and white lights of the car and the trunk, wasn't as smooth as he expected. She had a burn scar on her lower cheek and on a big part of her now exposed neck.

"Don't look at me like that," she mistook his inquisitive gaze, "I can't risk you screaming if we cross a city, so this is the best solution."

Dean thought she more argumented with herself than with him, but he kept his face angry anyway.

"Oh, and try not to puke, it would kill you," with that she pulled the visual cover of the trunk over him and shut it, leaving him in utter darkness.

"Thngg foo n'thng, bi'f," Dean mumbled into his gag. The car started and Dean realized that the trunk was not as small as he thought, meaning that he had still space to the front and the back where he could hit corners and edges as soon as the car moved. He tried to find a relatively comfortable position, but after some unsuccessful tries he contented himself with bringing his hurting ankle into a firm position and guarding his damaged back with his hands. At least he had no concussion, fighting for his life against the urge to puke was not very high on his priority list.

Dean decided to use the time and try to figure out who had taken him. His bet was on some normal people, because demons or vampires or anything like that would have used their special skills to get their fingers on him. It was a rather sad testimonial for him that he had lost against two normal humans. Which brought him to the next gnawing question, how did they know when he would drive on this road? Or did they just track down his car?

A sharp left bend halted his thoughts when his head slammed into the side of the trunk and his neck answered in protest. He had to take some deep breaths through his nose until the pain subsided. Exhausted, he rested his head back down. He was tired. It had been a long day and it was dark. Indifference wrapped around him like a soft blanket, offering peace and rest. The question that nagged at the back of his thoughts if he was losing consciousness or just going to sleep dissipated into nothingness when blackness claimed him.

* * *

AN: What do you think? Should I still hide from Dean? Did you like it? Found any mistakes? (I'm not a native english speaker, so constructive criticism is really ok)  
Please review :)


	3. Chapter 3

AN: In this chapter are lots of spoilers for the episode _The Prisoner_ (10x22), you have been warned :)

 **Chapter 3**

That was not what Dean had expected. He had expected some dungeon or at least a sturdy chair he would be tied to, but this was obviously an office.

He yanked at the handcuff again, which locked his right hand to the pipe of a heater. It didn't give in. Like the twenty times before.

Dean sighed. At least they had removed the gag when they had gotten him out from the ride in trunk-hell. They had arrived in a garage, made a short stop at the toilet that he didn't want to remember, and passed two flights of stairs and some spacious corridors before Ronnie and Clyde cuffed him to the heater in this office. And they hadn't lost a word about what was going on. Would be too easy, wouldn't it? They had just ignored him and left him there like an old toy.

It was a spacious and classy office. Sadly he couldn't reach anything besides the heater because of that. The walls were cased in wood, and the big-ass desk was just ten inches from his outstretched arm. There was also a leather sofa, and on the other side of the desk an office chair and a window. In the dawning light he could make out a garden and a forest in the background. No close neighbours as it seemed. And the door was out of his reach, too. They hadn't locked it but with the handcuffs on he had no chance of reaching it.

Dean guessed that he had to wait here for a bit if the bottle of water his kidnappers left him was any clue. Well, he wouldn't drink anything of that, that was for sure. It was most likely poisoned, and if not he would have to use the toilet again, and taking a piss with an open door and two guards with only his back to shield his privacy was not something he wanted to repeat. Only thing more embarrassing would be to actually pee his pants.

Dean stood up, wincing as he put weight on his injured leg, and took a look at the heater. It was like everything in this room – expensive and good quality. No chance to rip it out or unfasten it somehow. The hunter sank back on the carpet. He examined his left foot. It was swollen and moving it hurt, but he didn't think that it was broken. More likely a sprain or something like that.

He went on with the examination and found two mildly deep cuts on his face, one on his forehead and one on the cheek. He took some of the water and washed the blood away, letting the stained red water ooze into the thick beige carpet with a spark of malicious joy.

Now his back. It really hurt, and from what he could feel shreds of his shirt made a mess with clotted blood and the deep cuts over there. He just now realized that he had already stained the carpet with the blood from his back. The only thing he could do here was to not move too much so that the cuts wouldn't reopen.

His time was spent better looking for a lock pick, anyway.

Half an hour later, Dean gave up on it. There was nothing he could use, and getting a splinter out of the overpolished and three times varnished wood of the wall was impossible.

Maybe Sam would have started looking for him by now, Dean should have arrived at the bunker four hours ago. He just had to hope that Ronnie and Clyde weren't as professional as they seemed and left some kind of clue for Sam. Sam would use every scrap he found to locate him. In the meantime, Dean would try to get out of this himself.

* * *

Ten hours later, Dean's mood had gone from tense to frustrated to angry and then to resigned, where the last one lasted longest and was interrupted by short bursts of anger and frustration. He couldn't get out, couldn't do anything but sit on this damn soft carpet.

Then he finally heard footsteps. He stood up, his pulse quickening, and he tensed for whatever confrontation was to come.

The door opened and a woman in her mid-thirties walked in, followed by Ronnie and Clyde, his favourite kidnappers…

The new woman, a redhead, looked business-like and fitted to the office, although Dean had imagined a balding guy in a grey suit occupying it. Moderately high black shoes, grey creased trousers and a navy blouse wrapped her slim but relatively tall form. She was good-looking, but not Dean's type.

She had something on her that displayed authority and graveness, although Dean could see some signs of tiredness, suspecting that she wore it more as a façade.

Ronnie and Clyde had positioned themselves near the door, while the redhead went to Dean and stopped before him. Dean glared slightly down at her, unsure of what was to come.

"Dean Winchester," she said, her face emotionless.

"That's right," Dean put on a charming smile and made a show of trying to extend his handcuffed hand, "I guess I'm in kind of a disadvantage here, since I don't know who you are."

She shot his hand a look, irritated by his flippancy. _Obviously not the humorous type_. She fixed her bright blue eyes on his, boring deep when she talked again. "I'm the one whose family you killed."

Dean knew that that meant things were bad. Really bad. He could barely hold back a laugh at how crazy this situation, and his life in general was.

"I'm sorry, but that isn't helpful," Dean tried to stay calm. "See, I've got more people that would like a piece of me because I killed someone they know than I can count."

The woman's façade began to crumble now and she looked disbelieving with a slight hint of fear. But she recovered. "So you want to tell me that you murdered more than one entire household?" she asked incredulously.

And with that, Dean knew who he was dealing with.

"So you're with the Styne family," he stated, inwardly tensing even more.

"Actually my name is Eve Frank, and Monroe Styne was my cousin."

"Ok," Dean nodded, angry at himself that he was once again in the clutches of a body-part-recycler. And they even named themselves Frank and Styne, honestly?! "So what am I still doing here?"

When Eve creased her brows, looking questioningly, his thread of patience snapped.

"I mean here in this neat office. Don't you want to tie me to some medical table and use all my body parts for your crazy experiments?!"

The look that he received from the woman was completely aghast.

"What?! What are you talking about?" she went a step backwards, obviously thinking that he was crazy, and a thought that hadn't come to Dean's mind before hit him.

What if she didn't know about Monroe Styne and his family business. What if she was outside of that circle? Maybe the Frank family was completely normal. That would mean he had a chance to talk to her. He asked his next question with trepidation.

"So, you wanna tell me that you're not involved in your cousin's family business?"

"Sure I am," Dean's heart dropped back into his stomach.

"We are all surgeons, me, my cousin and my brother. Like my father and his father."

Dean nearly laughed. "I mean the illegal part of his business," he specified.

Now Eve shortly glanced to the side, a worried look at her face. "I know that he had some illegal network going, maybe money laundering or something… is that why you killed him?" Her inquisitive gaze was back on him.

Because of her reactions, Dean's suspicion that she didn't know about Monroe's practices hardened. Eve was most likely a clean slate when it came to the supernatural.

"It was not money laundering, but yes, I killed him for his crimes."

Dean thought that it would be a bad idea to tell her that her cousin was taking body parts from his enemies and gave them to his family. Eve wouldn't believe him for one second.

His thoughts raced when he thought of how he could talk himself out of this, when she asked the question that sealed his damnation.

"Why did you kill Cyrus?" This was the main reason he was here, he instantly saw it. Eve's eyes were glistening wet, and her voice trembled slightly. She could barely hold back her emotions.

And Dean couldn't answer. He averted his gaze and looked down at the heater. Cyrus, the one member of the Stynes that had witnessed him murder his brother, who had begged him to let him stay alive, assuring him that he didn't belong to the rest of his family, even confessing that he hated them. And Dean had lifted his weapon, giving Cyrus a shiver of hope, before he had killed him in cold blood.

Dean shook his head slowly. He hated those memories, it was probably the most terrible thing he had ever done, and he would never forgive himself for it. And now he stood before someone who knew this victim, and he couldn't look her in the eyes. He knew that they were filled with accusation and incomprehension, and that it was completely justified.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, cursing the mark of Cain for the millionth time. "I didn't want to do this."

"You didn't want to?!" Dean's head snapped up at the angry voice. Tears were smearing the tender hint of Eve's eyeliner and she was right in his face. "He was shot in the head. Point-blank. And you want to tell me that it was some kind of accident?" she moved away when she didn't get an answer. Turned around, gave the two what Dean assumed now were mercenaries at the door a glance, collected herself and turned back to him.

"I knew that Monroe wanted all his sons to participate in whatever illegal business he had." She was more collected now, a guilty tone mixing into her voice. "I tried to get my nephew out, encouraged him to get to L.A. and study medicine, and later join me, but I was too late."

Dean couldn't get a word out. Sure, Cyrus told him that he didn't belong to his family, but hearing it from Eve was something else entirely. He would have escaped the clutches of his family soon and would have become a doctor. A normal one. It was the truth, and Dean could no longer argue that the boy just wanted to save his life with his statements before his death. Dean had shot an innocent kid.

Eve shook her head, and Dean was brought back from his thoughts when he saw her holding a taser. Great. Now he was also responsible for a doctor going darkside. He braced himself when he saw Eve's determined mien.

She shot and the electrodes digged easily through his flannel shirt, getting stuck in the skin of his shoulder and abdomen. Dean jerked when they hit, but there was no shock. He slowly looked up again. Eve was still standing there, finger on the trigger.

"Why did you kill him?" She asked again, and Dean still couldn't answer. What should he tell her? She wouldn't believe one word of his Mark of Cain story, and-

Electricity hit him, all his muscles spasmed at the same time and his scream of pain was transformed to a groan by his tightly clenched mouth. He felt that he was falling, but he couldn't move a body part to catch himself.

Then it was over. His muscles were still sporadically twitching, and he slowly recollected himself. He had to unhinge his cuffed arm from the awkward position it was in after his fall and decided to keep sitting in front of the heater. The main reason for this decision being that he most likely couldn't stand at the moment. He felt pain and wetness on his back and knew that some of his cuts were bleeding again.

"I asked you a question," Eve still stood before him, deadly calm.

"Ok, ok," Dean stalled. He didn't know what to do, how to get out of this huge mess. Maybe he should start with the closest problem, and that were the electrodes in his skin.

Dean quickly tried to grab the electrode, but another shockwave hit him before he could make it. It hurt, and when it finally stopped, he felt dizzy and weak.

"Don't do that again. Just tell me what I want to know and I will stop." Dean believed her. She would most likely stop torturing him if he gave her a reasonable and honest answer why he shot her nephew. The problem was that his story had no reason at all. But if he didn't want to be shocked to death, he might try the truth.

"It was something like a curse." Dean looked her straight in the eyes, trying to somehow transmit honesty.

Eve creased her forehead.

"You mean like witchcraft – curse?"

"Yes. Those things exist. I know you will most likely not believe me, but all those bad things – demons, witches, curses – they do exist." Dean collected his breath again and continued when no shock was coming. "The Styne family was also involved in those things, and they killed someone pretty close to me. I wanted revenge, and the curse fuelled it and made me kill every last one of the family. I was out of control, and I really wish I weren't and that I could undo it."

There was a long silence. Eve still wore her stony façade, not letting him see what she was thinking.

"You're right," she finally spoke, "I don't believe you."

Dean wanted to say something, but Eve cut him off. "You are pathetic! You killed my nephew in cold blood and now you are too much of a coward to tell me the reason, and you even make up this dumb story –", she looked as if she had a sudden revelation, " - oh, now I know why! You want me to think that you're insane. You think I won't hurt you if I think you're out of your mind. But let me tell you something. You are not crazy, you are an evil and deceiving monster!" Hate now dripped of Eve's every pore, she was beyond reason and Dean knew that he was screwed. Thoroughly screwed.

He had no time to argue, no time to explain before the next charge hit him and he convulsed. He wanted to scream but his whole body was cramped. It finally ended, but only for two seconds. The next wave of agony was even longer, and his body finally surrendered and let him sink into unconsciousness.

* * *

AN: So, I rewatched the scene with Dean shooting Cyrus, and it's brutal… anyway, I had some Sam in this chapter in the beginning but it kind of didn't fit, so he will be in the next chapter. And this chapter was somehow difficult to write, especially the dialogue and the emotional stuff, but let me know what you think :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Sam was anxious when he drove to the spot the cop had told him. He had been on his last legs all day, starting with Dean not appearing in the bunker when he should. Sam had tried all his phones and the GPS on them, but there was no response at all. Not just the voicemail, but literally nothing. And that meant that someone had destroyed the phones on purpose. Or that they had been damaged all together by something huge.

It was then that Sam knew that his brother was in big trouble. And he too, because the GPS was the only way he could find Dean. He had told Cas, who in the moment alternated between phases of unconsciousness and phases of being achy and weak. The angel had been just as upset as him, but he couldn't get out of bed, although it looked like it for one second, before he faceplanted. They - well, to be precise most of it was Sam - decided that Cas should stay in bed and focus on getting better.

In the end, Sam had made some phone calls as agent Smith and gave out a search warrant for the Impala, since when he last spoke to Dean, he had been driving.

Why did Dean have to be the biggest magnet for trouble on earth? Seriously, it was crazy! Just when his brother had been back to normal from the Mark of Cain debacle, he had to get entrapped in the next thing. Whatever that 'thing' was.

Sam shook his head and gripped the wheel of the "borrowed" car tighter. It had taken until early afternoon before the cops told him they found the car damaged on the side of a road. The road where Dean must have been when they had last talked. It made Sam sick to his stomach, because it meant that whoever had Dean had a huge head start. Assumed that Dean was still alive. Sam banished the thought immediately, like he had countless times over the day.

He finally saw their car on the narrow line of grass on the side of the road. The trees next to it already began to shed their shadow over it, although some shards still glinted weakly in the setting sun. It looked really bad. The whole frame was twisted, the widows cracked and the varnish was a mess.

Sam quickly parked his car and jumped out. He went immediately to the driver seat and exhaled with relief when he didn't find Dean's body there. He tried to open the door, but it was jammed. That was when he saw the bloody shards on the window frame. Sams heart clenched and he immediately knew what happened. It was affirmed by Dean's gun that still lay in the foot space together with his smashed phones. _Shit!_ His brother had really been kidnapped. Couldn't he keep his ass out of trouble just one time? Sam unclenched his hands when he realized that his nails were digging deep into his flesh.

However, the hunter couldn't grind down the small shiver of relief at the thought that Dean was most likely still alive.

He brushed back his hair and went to search some clues. Sam was really thankful that he and Dean had honed their detective skills in so many cases. He immediately found the red varnish that left streaks in the front and the back of the Impala. Dean had been sandwiched by two red cars. It made Sam really uneasy. Whoever took Dean seemed to have planned everything out well.

The hunter couldn't find anything else, so he cleared the trunk with a heavy heart, and called a tow-truck because Dean would kill him if he let his baby rust at the side of the road. Afterwards he called the police to find the number plates of two red, probably scratched cars on the nearest traffic camera and then search for them. He would drive to the nearest police office and drive the search forward, he had done enough sitting around, he would find his brother, no matter how good they might have covered their tracks.

He inwardly prayed that Dean would hang on until he found those damn cars.

* * *

The first thing he felt was something soft at his cheek, followed by a strange soreness that embraced his whole body. And his hand felt numb. He opened his eyes and stared at a moonlit carpet. _Shit!_ His memory switched on with the force of a steamroller. Eve. And her nephew Cyrus. The taser. Fuck.

Dean sat up, and his hand that was still cuffed to the heater began to prickle when the blood flowed back in. He was still in the office, and it was two o'clock in the night courtesy to the stainless steel office clock.

Dean noticed something strange. It was not pain, but the absence of it. The cuts on his lower back should feel raw and inflamed, but there was only a dull ache. His left hand went over there and stopped, shocked when it felt gauze under his fingers. _The hell?!_ Under it he could feel stitches.

Two thoughts sprang immediately to his mind. First, Eve. What was wrong with her? First she knocked him out with a taser, next thing she was stitching him up? _Split personality much?_

Second, some of those cuts were really low on his back, and knowing that someone meddled with them while he was unconscious made him feel violated. Sam was the only one he would let stitch him up – or a doctor in a hospital if Sam insisted - but not some taser brandishing bitch with a stick in the ass on a crusade against him.

All the more reason for him to do a quick escape. Eve had clearly overestimated herself with trying to hold Dean Winchester. He was not the run-off-the-mill bad guy she thought she was holding. He grinned when he fumbled at the bandage clip that held all the gauze together. Some deforming and he could finally pick the goddamn handcuffs.

Two minutes and some pricks in his fingers later, he was free. At least of the handcuffs, he still had to get out of the house. Best thing would be to just take the way back to the garage, hotwire one of the cars and be gone.

He went to the door, praying that it was still unlocked. It was. Finally a little bit of luck. Dean wanted to step out when he remembered that he saw a letter opener on the desk. A lousy weapon but better than nothing. Dean took it and peered into the corridor. It was dark, only lit by the dim moonlight that filtered through from behind. He went to the right, lightly placing his steps, and reached the stairs without incident. He just hoped that Ronnie and Clyde had the night off. Dean had no idea how the average mercenary spent the night, and come to think of it, he probably didn't want to know.

The first flight of stairs was done, now just across the next corridor and down the other stairs to the garage. He had passed half of the corridor when a door shortly behind him opened. No way! He was so close! He didn't even turn around and was about to begin a desperate sprint when he heard the release of a gun. Just a bit too close. So close that even an unexperienced shooter would have next to no chance missing him. _Great!_

He turned around, hands held slightly up, and saw Eve. He would have had no problem never seeing her again, although she looked like a completely different person right now. With her too big T-shirt and pyjama pants, her unruly hair widely framing her face. But the small revolver that she held made the in itself hilarious picture of the beforehand stiff as a board doctor deadly serious.

She was lit from behind by light shining out of the room she came from. It looked like a freaking corona lit on fire at the red hair.

"Mr. Winchester." Dean quickly had to bite his tongue before he answered with a ' _Mr. Anderson_.' Either he was evolving gallows humour or he was still light-headed from the electroshock treatment earlier.

"Miss Frank," he kept a straight face, not letting his eyes from the revolver.

She stood pretty close. If she just moved a step closer he could reach her gun-hand.

"Lay down your weapon," she commanded. Dean had all but forgotten about the letter opener that was still in his hand.

"You mean this?" Dean wagged the blunt knife a bit. And Eve took the bait. She made a step forward, lifting her gun threateningly, but Dean knew what to do.

He took a small step to the side that moved his upper body out of the fireline, dropped the knife and grabbed Eve's right hand with his. She was so perplex that she didn't even pull the trigger. A short yelp was all she could muster. Dean grabbed the muzzle of the gun and yanked it down, effectively breaking Eve's grip on the weapon. Normally Dean would slam the gun in the attacker's face, but Eve looked so shocked that he couldn't bring himself to do it. He would just be gone and she had to find another way to cope with her grief.

Dean tried to decide whether he should knock Eve out or not, when he heard heavy footsteps behind him.

Another change of plans, then. He used his left arm to yank Eve before him and towards his escape route where the footsteps came from. Dean ducked a bit so that his head wouldn't be an easy target, and grabbed the wriggling Eve even tighter. He didn't liked that he had to do it, but he set the revolver to Eve's temple. She went rigid immediately, Dean could feel her tensing through the thin clothes. She was so close that Dean could feel the warmth radiating off her.

His focus went back to the footsteps. Ron emerged from the stairs that led to the garage, gun drawn.

* * *

AN: This and the next chapter were originally one, but the length got out of hand and I split it. Hence, the slight cliffie *insert evil laugh*. Next chapter will be up soon, let me know what you think :)


	5. Chapter 5

_His focus went back to the footsteps. Ron emerged from the stairs that lead to the garage, gun drawn._

 **Chapter 5**

"You move out of the way and I don't shoot your employer, does that sound good to you, Ronnie?" Dean made a step forward, taking Eve with him. To his surprise, she barged in.

"Ron, don't move." Dean thought he misheard. He grabbed Eve and the revolver tighter.

"Are you insane?" he hissed at his probably whacko hostage.

"I don't think that he will kill me," she was still speaking to Ron, who looked sceptical and moved his gun to get a better aim on Dean. Meanwhile, Dean was getting furious. His escape was palpable and Eve had nothing better to do than play drama queen.

"You really want to test me, Ron? Do you also think that I wouldn't kill the bitch that electrocuted me just some hours ago?" he thought it better to speak to Ron, he might be the more reasonable person in the moment. And he had to convince him that he was serious, because he really didn't want to shoot the slender woman currently in his vicious grip. Apart from that, if he shot Eve, he might get shot by Ron. Wouldn't get him anything, would it? How did he always end up in these stupid situations?

Ron seemed to think about it, when fricking Eve once again couldn't keep her trap shut.

"He won't shoot me because he doesn't shoot innocent people."

But he could damn well shoot her in the leg if she wouldn't shut up. He was about to say that but Eve turned her head, forehead now pressed against the revolver. She was grinning. Dean internally froze. Something was not right.

"That's his weakness," she smiled even brighter, and Dean felt a dull pain in his right thigh.

He looked down, and there was a fucking syringe – sticking in his leg!

Eve used his moment of unawareness and shock to grab the revolver with both her hands and turn it away from her face.

Dean had to use his other hand to try to regain the control over the weapon. Meanwhile, an ice cold feeling that he had misjudged something greatly spread through his body and made his heart go even faster.

He gritted his teeth and tried to shove the gun back in Eve's insanely grinning face. But she yanked hard and Dean lost the grip on the revolver. He looked at his suddenly empty hands. They prickled and he had a hard time moving them at all.

"Dean, Dean, Dean," his focus was back on Eve, who shook her head, now clearly amused. "It was so much fun toying with you. I really had you thinking that I was the desperate but otherwise harmless doctor, hadn't I?"

That was it. That crazy bitch had played him like her fucking fiddle. He snapped. Regardless of the gun, he let loose on her. He would beat that fucking bitch's face to a pulp!

His leg gave in at the first step, and Dean let out an angry shout when he landed on the floor. He tried to get up again, but his body's reaction was somehow delayed and his fingers and toes didn't move at all. He sank back to the floor. Numbness was slowly spreading through his limbs, as was fear. What the hell had she dosed him with?

"Well, I didn't lie about everything. I am a doctor. That's why I get my hands on the good stuff."

She kneeled down to his horizontal form, patted his thigh and took the syringe out.

"It's my own combination of pancuronium and methocarbamol. Very potent muscle relaxants. I think one of them is even used in the lethal injection – don't worry, none of the other people I gave this combination died –" she made a badly played considering pause "- well, from the injection. Can't say they survived what came after."

"You evil son of a bitch!" Dean took all the strength he had left and kicked at Eve with his leg. The beginning paralysis made it feel like he was using the parts under his knee as a club, but he still managed to strike her face and was rewarded with the satisfactory sound of her scream. The momentum of the kick had him lying on his belly, and he was too fucking weak to move to his side. And he hated it. To feel how his body slowly gave up on him was terrifying.

At least he could still turn his head to his adversary. Sadly he hadn't broken her nose and just made her furious. A concerned Ron still lingered behind her.

"That was not very smart," Eve stated. The anger was gone from her voice and face, but that didn't ease Dean at all. She had that freezing aura of cold and utter control around her that only few of the worst things Dean had to deal with possessed. She moved over to him and turned him around with her foot, as if he was some gross cadaver she found on the street. He looked up now, and damn, the shitty poison that was invading his blood stream paralyzed him even more. It began to reach his head and he couldn't move it one inch to the side.

"Uuh..." his answer that hitting her face was the best thing he had done today wouldn't come out.

Her spotless face was slowly coming nearer as she knelt down to him, wearing a smile that didn't reach her dead eyes. How could he not have seen those blue soddened pools of atrocity and hate that were her eyes before? She was now so close that her hair tingled his face.

"Don't bother speaking, doesn't work completely paralyzed." She brought her hand to his face, and Dean wanted to slap it away with every fiber of his body, but he couldn't. His situation had gone from bad to worse and his body continued giving in to the drugs. The last thing he could move, his eyes, now gave up, too. He couldn't move them, couldn't focus and they were half shut, but it didn't spare him the sight of Eve's face, although it was now blurry.

"I would really like to break your nose right now, but you would suffocate at the blood running into your airways. And you won't get away that easy," Eve sounded like she was talking about the weather, and that made him even more anxious inside. It felt like he was trapped in a dead body, and having no control at all scared him big time. She could do anything to him and he wouldn't even make a sound of protest.

She took his left hand in hers and Dean thought it was strange that he could feel her warm hands enclosing his. But he could still feel. He felt his body lying on the floor, felt Eve's hair on his face, even her knee at his side. Moving was impossible, but he could still feel. And he felt pressure building in his ring finger as Eve grabbed it harder. Dean knew what was about to come, and he desperately tried to move his hand away from Eve, but his dulled body wouldn't move an inch. He heard the nasty snap before he felt it.

The pain was overwhelming, and he couldn't even shout it out, protect his arm or have a look at it. He was completely still, his internal scream of agony trapped just below his vocal chords never coming to existence.

"That hurt, didn't it?" Eve seemed to like her game of stating the obvious. "But it's not half as much fun when I don't see you react." The white in his constricted vision field was probably her fucking grin. The first pain began to dull a bit, but the ugly pulsating feeling that slowly spread over his left hand wasn't enjoyable either.

Dean might have concentrated a bit too much on his hand, for he had unknowingly lost sight of Eve.

"Ron, Clara, bring him down and have a look at him in two hours. That's when the dose should wear off. And place him on the side. Wouldn't want him to suffocate and take the easy way out."

Dean tried to ignore the not very well hidden threat, but he knew that he was helpless and completely at that woman's mercy. At least her steps now withdrew. Ron and Clara – he had been close enough with the name – each took one of his arms and lifted him up.

"Damn, how heavy is that guy," Dean heard Clara complain as she positioned his arm over her shoulders and painfully grabbed his left hand. They went down exactly the stairs Dean had wanted to take, although he could just see parts of the floor and stairs they dragged him over, courtesy of his head limply hanging down. They dumped him on his belly in a dark room and Clara dutifully turned his head to the side. She patted his cheek. _Damn, could those bitches keep their fingers to themselves for once?_

"I'd really like to have some fun with you, but I guess you're all Eve's… for the beginning. Maybe I can play with you a little later." Dean didn't like the sound of what was breathed in his face one bit. Clara stayed there, probably just to show him that she could, and then stood up. Two pairs of boots left the cell and he heard a lock. _Fuck!_ He stared at the floor because he had no other choice. It was concrete and pretty dull. Everything else was out of focus. He could make out his limp right hand, the outlines of the door and a pipe. Cold was slowly seeping from the floor into his face and body.

He would be forced to wait until that infernal drug wore off. Hopefully it was sooner than Eve expected and he would be ready to rip Clara's grin off her stupid face.

Before that, nothing to do than stare at the floor through half-lidded eyes like a moron.

 _Now would be a really good time to get me out, Sammy._

* * *

AN: Haha, hands up who really thought I would just let Dean escape. Nobody? Well, ok... Anyway, let me know what you think, leave a review, that's what makes me happy :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Dean felt like he had laid on the cold floor for at least ten hours. In this strange state of being conscious but unable to move anything, while still feeling everything, he had no idea of passing time.

The only things he could focus on were his still aching and pulsating broken finger, the cold from the floor slowly creeping into his body and the saliva slowly pooling out of his slightly ajar mouth. _Gross!_

However, he had used the time to slightly organize his thoughts.

First, to Eve. She apparently had an A plus in acting class. She was a doctor, but she had killed people. That meant that the Frank family was also following the family call of the Styne family. Although Dean wasn't sure if she also harvested body parts or if she did her very own business, whatever.

She had also used Cyrus against him, knew a lot about him and maybe was even in on the whole Mark of Cain thing.

Second, Ron and Clara. They might not be mercenaries like he first thought. How the over formally Eve had spoken to them by their first names had made him suspicious that they might somehow belong to the Frank family. The Stynes seemed to have a knack for having lots of family members, maybe the Franks were the same.

Third, it was a very bad thing to be in the clutches of a mad doctor with all the drugs she wanted at her disposal. And he really had to get out of here as fast as possible. And then come back with a shitload of weapons and fry Eve's crazy ass. The corner of Dean's mouth twitched upward at the thought. Wait. He had just moved a muscle.

Ok, he had to concentrate now. He tried to move his right index finger, because with his position on the floor, his limp right hand was the only thing of his body he could see. He just had to move it now. Like in Kill Bill. Move the damn finger. It twitched! Great. He now just had to do that with all remaining muscles. No problem.

Around half an hour later, Dean leaned against the wall of his cell. His eyes were luckily back to normal and he could finally see all of his cell. There was a narrow window pretty far up, that let some moonlight in. But he wouldn't fit through that. The only furniture was a small table in the corner. Apart from that and a neon tube that was laid into the ceiling, the room was empty. Just some pipes that criss-crossed the room, making Dean suspect that it was some kind of abandoned boiler room.

Unfortunately, Dean was still impaired by the drugs. He could move his fingers and toes pretty well, but when he tried to move his arms and legs they were still uncoordinated and wouldn't go where Dean wanted them to.

Nevertheless, he had to get up. He used the wall to slowly move his body up, letting out a groan when his broken finger made painful contact with the wall.

Finally, he was upright. Leaning against the wall and dizzy, but upright.

That's when he picked up steps from outside. Fuck, could they just give him five more minutes?

He squeezed his eyes when the light flickered on, heard the lock closely followed by Clara stepping in, still wearing her mercenary outfit. Her eyes widened a bit when she saw Dean standing at the wall.

"Oh, already up and about? I'm impressed."

"What can I say, I like to surprise," Dean's voice was a bit hoarse, but clear enough.

Clara swept her blond hair out of her face and smiled. Dean hated that creepy smile.

"But you don't look too good. I bet you really need that wall for support."

She threw a bag she was carrying into the corner. She hadn't pulled out her gun yet, and Dean wouldn't complain. He pushed off the wall with all his strength, ignoring the jarring pain from his hand and launched at Clara.

She was surprised, but managed to sidestep him and shoved into him from the side. Dean was unable to keep his balance, and went down. Clara was on top of him instantly, and Dean was angry and a bit embarrassed when the fist he had aimed for Clara's face went widely amiss. She grabbed him by his shoulders and yanked him on his belly, then took his arms in an iron grip and fastened a zip-tie around his wrists. Dean just wanted to scream. It was so unfair. Just some minutes later and he would have kicked Clara's ass.

"Fighting with some of your muscles still paralyzed isn't easy, Dean."

"Oh, so you're also a doctor now?" Dean snarled, hating that everyone in that house seemed to point out the obvious to him.

Clara stood up and pulled him to his feet. He didn't like it at all that he had to lean on her for support.

"Kind of. I'm Eve's trainee," she told him when she positioned him before one of the pipes, one that went all the way from ceiling to floor, "don't move or I shoot you through your kneecaps."

Ok, Clara seemed to be a very eager trainee. Dean had to grab the pipe behind him awkwardly with his bound hands for support when Clara went for her bag. He gulped when he saw the knife in her hands.

But she just used it to undo the zip-tie. After that he felt sticky duct tape being wrapped around his wrists, and not sparingly. She even went around the pipe a few times, fixating his hands tightly behind his back and to the damn pipe. He was once more pretty helpless, and it was not helping that his legs had still trouble taking his weight.

Clara gave her handiwork a satisfied look and strolled in front of Dean. She was carrying a bottle of water.

"Now, Eve told me to look after you, and I think you need some water after all your blood loss."

Dean swallowed dry before he could prevent it. His mouth was really feeling like the Sahara desert. But being in the clutches of a crazy doctor and her trainee made one think again before taking something they offered.

"Yeah, well, I'm not that thirsty, but if you really want me to drink it, you have to take a big gulp of it yourself before," Dean had put on a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

Clara didn't drink of the water. What a surprise. Most likely there was another dose of that paralyzing stuff in it.

She just grinned back. "You think you can make demands here?" She stalked even nearer, the cap of the bottle hitting the floor loudly in the tense silence.

"I guess I have to show you who is the boss the hard way."

Dean clamped his mouth shut, and asked himself why he hadn't noticed Clara's freckles earlier. Maybe because they didn't suit a cold-ass bitch like her. She looked like she was about to unwrap a Christmas present when she went for Dean's nose and clamped her hand over it. _Shit!_ Dean wasn't getting any air. He kept up as long as he could, but Clara didn't seem to get bored of his reddening face, and he finally had to open his mouth to get a deep breath.

Only that he inhaled mostly water. Dean sputtered and gulped, anything to get some of the precious air inside his lungs. Water was dripping from his chin and on his clothes, but he also swallowed, because he really needed the tiny specks of air he got in between the wet and messed up gulps.

Finally Clara withdrew the bottle and Dean had to bend forward for quite a while to cough the liquid from all the wrong places. He wondered if his limbs would start to give out soon. He couldn't estimate how much of the tainted water he drank. Clara looked happy as a king when he stole a glance towards her. When he recovered, she just stood there, the nearly empty bottle still in hand.

"I really like the balky ones, they are so much more fun," she fucking winked at him and drank the rest from the water bottle.

 _Great_. Not poisoned. Dean was getting angry again. Since he had been kidnapped, those bitches kept pulling his strings, and he hated it. He hated having no control, it was driving him crazy.

"You sadistic whore!" Dean knew that retribution would come, but he didn't care.

Clara was back in his face instantly. She was still grinning, but if her eyes could get any colder, they would freeze.

"That's funny, coming from you. I heard that you were Crowley's little boy toy for the last summer. Guess you really enjoyed –"

She didn't come any further, for Dean exploited her closeness and rammed his head into her face. He felt something give in, and when Clara stumbled back, blood running from her nose, he was pretty pleased with himself.

Dean grinned while Clara still collected herself. "Get your facts straight. Crowley just wanted to hang out –" this time, Dean was interrupted. By a fist to his gut. He gasped and bend over in pain, panting heavily, but was pushed back roughly, his head hardly connecting to the pipe behind him.

Through a haze of pain Dean could just make out a big moving smudge that must be Clara. He was breathing heavily, and it suddenly got more difficult. His head needed some seconds until it cleared, but then he felt that Clara was fixating his neck to the pipe. Thoroughly. Seriously, she even wrapped the duct tape in eights. And she was not very careful with his neck.

Dean tried to take some deep breaths, relieved that it was still possible, although difficult.

"Don't worry about that nose," Dean hated how strained his voice sounded, "Your face was not the nicest to begin with."

The hit in the guts he got for that was totally worth it. Clara, her nose swollen and the blood now also covering her chin, angrily stomped to her bag and took it. She opened the door and faced her challenging prisoner one last time.

"You will regret that. Dearly."

"Oh, I don't think so," Dean mumbled after the door was slammed shut and the light went out. Her embarrassing nasal voice alone was worth it all. And he had gotten the information that the Franks somehow had a connection to demons as a freebie. How else could Clara know anything about Crowley.

Well, maybe he didn't get that information completely for free, he thought as he shifted a bit in his new confinement.

The only part of his body that he could still move - apart from his fingers of which one was broken -were his legs. And he really needed them to support his weight, otherwise he would strangle himself with the fancy noose that Clara had tinkered around his neck. It was already beginning to get uncomfortable, and its tight feeling reminded him even more of his confinement. There was no escaping this hangman's noose. And he didn't mean just the literal one.

* * *

AN: Oops, I did it again. I had to split another chapter because the second half was getting monstrously long. But don't worry, next Chapter will drive the story forward, and will finally feature Sam again ;). Like always tell me what you think :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The rest of the night, Dean tried to get out of his bonds. The duct tape was sticky as fuck, and Dean wriggled his hands, but the pain in his broken finger was too much, and it didn't loosen a bit, so he had to give up. He was still trapped. What annoyed him most was the tape around his neck. Because of it, he couldn't move his head around, and couldn't distribute his weight better. He could still move his legs a bit, and that was desperately necessary, but he already felt the strain in his shoulders and in his back.

And he was getting hungry. He cursed his stomach for it, because Dean clearly had other problems than his hunger at the moment, but the constant churning in his belly wouldn't stop.

Where the hell was Sam? Courtesy to the narrow window behind him, Dean knew that it had become early morning. That meant that Sam had had more than a whole day to find him. If he dawdled any more, Dean might not be able to walk out of that door when Sam finally found him.

His thoughts were interrupted by noises at the door. His small shiver of hope quickly died when he saw Eve march in, this time in jeans and a tight green T-shirt, followed by Ron.

"Where's Clara? She busy with her beauty sleep?" Dean relished in the memory of her broken and bloody nose for a second.

"You – " Ron stepped angrily forward, but was stopped by Eve's lifted hand. Interesting, that was the first emotion he ever saw Ron have. He inwardly filed that away and concentrated on the bigger threat that approached, namely Eve.

"Don't worry about Clara, I fixed her nose, will be as good as new. And for you – I hope you had a relaxed night, because this day will be – arduous."

 _Relaxed night my ass._

"Well, I was kept awake wondering what deal you have made with your crossroad demon. Did he give you your license to practice medicine? Made you taller? No, I know, it cured you of a terrible acne, right?"

Dean was watching her closely as he chatted away, trying to get some information about the demons Clara mentioned. Eve was getting angry, but schooled her features before she approached Dean. She shallowly shook her head.

"You think you know something about demons? One should think that the infamous Dean Winchester, part-time demon, would know that there are more deals than the standard ten-years-and-a-wish-is-granted-for-your-soul deal."

So he hit home with his theory that demons were involved. Maybe he could bring her to spill a bit more of the beans.

"If there were any other deals in existence, don't you think that the King of Hell would know about them?"

A derogatory laugh. "I'm sure he knows. But I also know that Crowley is far too intelligent to share all his secrets with Dean Winchester, be he his best demon buddy at that time or not."

She obviously knew a lot about demons, Crowley and even about Dean.

"So what sale of the century deal did that demon offer you?" Dean felt a hint of excitement spiking up. It felt a bit like the first step of hunting: find out what you're up against. He really wanted to know about Eve Frank's big demon secret.

"It's just simple logic," she grinned. Dean got the suspicion that she really liked to gloat and know things better. "Demons want souls. A normal deal gets them one soul after ten years. I made a deal where I give them many souls – not mine, of course – and I get an exceptionally long life in return. Screw the ten years and it's over. I'm seventy and expect to keep going for another hundred years."

Ok, that was completely new for Dean, but it somehow made sense. "You aged well – considering that you could be my grandmother." It was really impressive. Although Dean only connected de-ageing stuff with witches, why shouldn't demons who granted wishes not have the power for it?

Another thought hit him. "And where do you get those souls that you give your demon?"

Thankfully, Eve seemed to like the role of the monologuing bad guy nearly as much as the one of the innocent doctor.

"I work in a hospital. People die in hospitals, and it's unbelievable how few questions are asked in thorax surgery if yet another patient dies of heart failure."

Dean felt sick. "So you let your trusting patients die on your operation table and send their souls to hell?"

"Well, yes. Don't worry, most of the time I take people that had it coming, the alcoholics and the adipose ones."

"Most of the time?" Dean had a hard time keeping back the bile that rose in his throat with the damn duct tape still around it, but he forced it down with sheer willpower, because the other alternative would be just too embarrassing. A doctor who killed their patients and sent their souls to go to hell and endure the endless torture there was disgusting and wrong on so many levels. He honestly felt sick.

Eve stopped in her pacing and stood before Dean, blue eyes boring into his. "Yes, most of the time. There are always exceptions, but that's all I'll let you know. Enough with the stalling. You will finally get what you deserve," she made another step towards Dean.

"That's not necessary, I don't set value on things like medals, you know," the last thing Dean had left to wield against Eve was his voice and he was hell-bent on using it till his last breath.

Eve now got angry. Apparently her non-existent sense of humour was even more absent when it concerned her family. "You think you're funny? I will carve and burn the funny from you until all you're able to do is scream. And then, when I will eventually get bored, I will kill you slowly."

She suddenly had a scalpel in her hand and held it between their faces, so close that Dean couldn't focus on it. It was strange how this virtually tiny knife depicted such a great threat. It was not the knife itself, but the capable hands it was wielded in that promised what only heaven knew. Dean's heart rate increased and he felt a drop of sweat roll down on his back. He thought that maybe a big-ass machete would be less intimidating at the moment.

"I haven't decided yet how I will do it. Kill you. In the moment, I can't decide between skinning and burning you. Or maybe I just sever some of the nerves in your legs and watch you slowly suffocate on that nice sling Clara made."

Dean gulped. "I heard that dying of old age was a real crappy way to go, maybe you should go for that."

Dean hated how raspy his voice sounded, because he really was afraid. Who wouldn't be by the prospect of being skinned, honestly? But he would not in hell show that to the monstrous spawn before him.

"That won't be an option, I'm afraid. But we have plenty of time left until I'll kill you – if I think about it, after last night I'm sure Clara will have some good suggestions concerning your death."

She ripped his flannel shirt open and shoved it back on his arms to his wrists, fixating him even more with the act. The only thing covering his upper body was now a plain white T-shirt, although Dean knew without looking down that it had lost its whiteness big time over the last one and a half days.

The scalpel was jammed into his bicep, and Dean clenched his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose. If this bitch wanted him to scream, he sure as hell wasn't gonna do that. The scalpel moved on, leaving behind a deep cut and blood flowing down his arm until it was soaked up by the thirsty cloth of his shirt crumpling at his wrists.

Dean shifted his head as much as he could in his confinement to get a look at Eve. She was standing to his left side, completely occupied as she made a second deep cut that exactly paralleled the first one.

It hurt, but he had had worse. Eve, still oblivious to everything else, made a third and fourth cut, that now spanned over half of his upper arm. He began to feel a bit dizzy, there was really a lot of blood streaming down from the deep cuts, and he could feel how the cloth at his wrists slowly soaked through, in the process soiling his hands with blood.

Maybe he could use that moisture to get out of the duct tape. He began to slowly wriggle his wrists, trying to loosen them up a bit, but Eve immediately noticed.

"Dean, you really shouldn't move, I'm trying not to slice your artery here," she looked annoyed, as if he was a child doing something stupid.

"Yeah, I can see that you're really trying your best not to hurt me, just cut the crap talk, ok?"

He wanted to say it with a lot more determination that it came out with. Another wave of dizziness hit him, and he sacked down in his bonds, straining the tape around his neck and making him effectively straighten up again, breathing heavily. He felt too warm. A drop of sweat rolled into his eye and he began to blink furiously.

Eve must have seen his struggles, she stopped the fifth cut midway and held her hand to Dean's forehead. "Already?" Her gaze went down his arm, where blood was beginning to drip to the floor. "Ok, maybe I got carried away a bit and made them deeper than I normally would, but you did kill my family after all. Prepare the cautery." Dean had recovered enough from the dizzy wave to realize that her last sentence was going to Ron. Wait, cautery?

Eve clearly must have seen his uneasiness at the word. "Don't worry, it's a very common method used to stop bleeding. Normally the patient is under anaesthetics, but…" she shrugged her shoulders.

"Yeah, that wouldn't satisfy your pain fetish, I know," Dean all but slurred, his helplessness once again brought home to him.

"If you don't want it, I can let you bleed out right here. Or I could use the stapler."

Dean couldn't refrain from holding his breath for a second. Stapler? He let his breath out, hoping that Eve wouldn't have picked up on it, but the amused sparkle in her eyes told him different.

"Ron, I thought about it, give me the stapler instead," she called to Ron, who shot her a look and then went on rummaging in a bag.

The sweat that had covered his face now began to chill and made Dean shiver slightly. He really thought that he would hold up better, he must look like a complete mess, only after a few cuts.

It was that thought that finally strengthened his resolve. He took some deep breaths and slightly shifted his position. If Eve wanted to try all her toys on him she could, he would stand through it all, until Sam found him.

Eve had in the meantime nestled a small bottle from her pocket that she unceremoniously poured over his wounds. "That might sting a bit."

Dean couldn't hold back a deep grunt at the burning sensation that engulfed his upper arm and travelled through his whole body. He was panting heavily. When he caught himself enough, he shifted his eyes back to Eve. She had a roughly hand long white device pressed to his arm. It didn't look like a stapler, really –

It hurt a lot when Eve pressed it even harder to his already battered flesh, and the first clip embedded itself into his skin with a spike of hot pain. He clamped his teeth together, but other than a forced breath he remained silent. Eve continued, again completely focused on her work. It went awfully slow, always repeating itself. _Pressure, pain, click, more pain_. After the tenth clip Dean was sweating again and the duct tape around his neck obstructed his heavy breathing. Dean's gaze shifted to his mutilated arm for a second and he wished he hadn't looked, because Eve had just started at the second cut. Seeing all that metal stuck in his skin might be worse than syringes. Anyway, how long was this gonna take? He needed some kind of distraction and although it was most likely a bad idea, what did he have to lose?

"So, your story about Cyrus wasn't an act?" Dean asked through clenched teeth. He knew that it was dangerous territory, and that irritating the person that stitched you up wasn't a good idea, but since Eve wasn't doing it for charity's sake and he really wanted to know, he didn't care.

A flicker of sadness went over Eve's face before she could hide it, however when she bore her blue eyes into Dean's they were cold and distanced again.

"He really wanted to get away from his family. No wonder, harvesting body parts, that's just daft. And ineffective at that. If a bullet to the brain still takes you out, what does all the additional muscle use you?"

Dean felt shivers down his spine when he heard the last words he spoke to Cyrus' brother nearly mirrored. _You still only have one brain._

More stapling. Dean let out a hiss at the sudden sensation. But he would keep this conversation going.

"So you disapproved of their ways?"

"They were my family," she looked afield, "but I didn't like the patriarchic way Monroe trained all of his sons and made them compete against each other. I told him that, but he was a traditionalist. Keep up all that the family did 300 years ago. I prefer to let people do their own choices. My family is adopted, and that is where our strength lies. You see, if belonging to the family is what they truly want, you can rely on them."

"You mean Clara and Ron?"

Another three clamps.

"Yes. And maybe, some day Cyrus. But that's off the stove now, isn't it?"

Dean could see how she clenched her teeth, but patiently finished her job. Then she straightened up and smirked. Her white teeth glistened in the light. "There is so much I will put you through for this. I hadn't planned that you tolerated blood loss so poorly, but I can adjust. Unfortunately I have a meeting soon," She fetched a pocket watch of all things and snapped it open. Dean had no idea how her hands had stayed clean while his arm was completely covered in blood.

"Can't have my leisure time even on a Saturday, but that's the job. Tumor board review."

Dean decided to not tell her that he thought that doctors who sold their patients to hell for a longer life shouldn't have any say in medical decisions.

She sighed, and handed her bloody stapler to Ron, while Dean internally sighed too, but out of relief. He had pulled through the first round and was still relatively intact.

He shouldn't have thought this. He kicked himself internally when Eve turned back to him.

She walked behind him and grabbed his bound left hand. His broken finger protested with an angry pulsating and Dean tried to wriggle it away, but he was firmly held in place. She grabbed his middle finger, overriding Dean's attempts to clench his fingers to a fist.

 _Snap._ Dean couldn't subdue his cry of pain. Because hell, it hurt. The pain was once more spreading through his whole body, making his blood depleted brain float. When his head stopped spinning, Eve was already gone. Ron had stowed away the things and went to him, a bottle in his hand.

Dean let out a raw chuckle at the repetition. But this time, he drank. All of it. He knew that his body really needed the water.

He wanted to make some nonchalant comment to Ron, but he had to concentrate too much on staying on his feet than thinking of something.

Dean was left alone once again and immediately tried if he could loosen the duct tape now that it was covered in blood. But it still stuck too tightly to his skin and he wasn't able to wriggle it off.

* * *

Around seven agonizingly long hours later, when the light outside was already getting dimmer, the only thing holding Dean upright was raw willpower. That combined with the knowledge that giving his legs a rest meant strangulation and certain death. Not just his legs hurt like hell, his shoulders also hurt from the constant strain they were under with his hands tied behind his back. His upper arm looked like a chainmail with all the clasps inside his skin and the skin itself was red, raw and hurt in a pulsating rhythm. And not to forget his broken fingers that kept bitching as soon as he tried to move his hands to get blood flowing back into them.

When he finally heard steps, Dean strained. The door opened, and in came Eve and Clara, the latter one sporting thick white strips over her broken nose. Dean grinned at her and received a deadly glare in return.

"So we're continuing our game of chop Dean up, I presume?" he asked into the room.

Clara still glared, but Eve answered.

"No, I have thought about something different. You know, with you losing all that blood I had to come up with something else. For now." Dean didn't like where this was going. Whatever she had come up with, Dean was sure that he wouldn't like it one bit.

"I have something for you." Dean looked around. She hadn't brought any bag with her and Dean kept wondering what she meant, when Eve called to the corridor. "Matthews!"

Dean wondered who Matthews was, when he realized that they had left the door open. The next thing he noticed were more steps outside. And not just one pair. They reached the door and Dean could see the persons responsible.

Two guys who looked like the distilled essence of the word 'goon' came in, but what stopped Dean's breath was the tall figure they carried between them, face covered by a bag that couldn't conceal the erratic breathing.

Because Dean knew these broad shoulders, knew that brown and blue plaid shirt, knew the slim legs that made the tattered jeans look just a tad too big. He knew that the slightly hunched stance combined with the heavy breaths and the insecure steps meant pure fear. And he hated how the goons held him unrelentingly between them, hated how his arms were painfully twisted behind his back, and hated how he staggered completely disoriented when the goons roughly jerked him to a standstill.

"Sam." The desperately whispered word escaped Dean's lips just before Eve pulled the bag away. Dean's brain was on override. Fear and concern fought with anger, overshadowed by a big cloud of desperation.

Seeing Sam's face was even worse. The cold that had invaded every pore of Dean's body froze over now, seeing his brother's disoriented look, long strands of hair falling in his face, only partly concealing the red swelling on his cheek. Sam's eyes darted around everywhere until they found Dean.

"Dean!" Sam squinted his eyes and shook his head slightly, trying to look at him, but Dean could see that he was not completely able to, his eyes swimming away to his left every time he tried to focus. What the hell had Eve drugged him with?

"What the hell have you done to him?!"

* * *

AN: So, who's ready for a happy family reunion party? Nobody? Well, ok… *awkwardly packs away confetti*

I don't know why, but this chapter was incredibly hard to write, I even had to distract myself with writing a super dark Sam-in-the-cage fic (and I totally blame it on Mark Pellegrino in the latest episode). So even though I'm not completely satisfied with this chapter, I hope it's still ok, the next one will get better, it's a flashback to what the heck happened to Sam and is nearly finished already *yay*. As always, let me know what you think :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

 _Six hours earlier…_

Sam looked at the abandoned warehouse through the windshield. It seemed to always come down to abandoned warehouses in the end. And there the two cars were. A red pick-up and a red SUV, sporting lots of scratches. Finally. Finding the two cars that had taken Dean on the traffic cam had been pretty easy, they got a clear picture of them including the number plates in about two hours. But the matter of finding the actual cars had been something else entirely. It had taken loads of coffee, all night and until around eight in the morning until an officer told them that a couple had seen two scratched red cars turn into an industrial area in a city around three hours away.

Sam had made it there in two hours, but the area was pretty big with many junkyards where he had to look exactly if his two red cars hid somewhere.

It was around noon when he finally found them. Dean had been away for about one and a half days and Sam hoped with every fibre of his being that he would be ok.

He had parked his car around the corner to be unsuspicious, and went to the trunk. He had carelessly thrown all their weapons in there, so he had to rummage a bit until he found everything he needed. He didn't know what he would be up against, so he took a machete, the demon-killing knife, his gun, a silver knife, holy water and a flashlight with him.

Sam took some deep breaths of fresh air. It was such a huge relief to finally see the cars, to really do something. Sitting in front of a computer and trying to find his brother while at the same time worrying about him endlessly had felt awful. Now, he could eventually do something about it.

Adrenalin pumped through him when he approached the warehouse. He couldn't see any movements from the outside. Sam decided to take the back door and made short work of its lock. He slowly opened the door, gun at the ready. Nobody jumped him, there was only darkness. He lit the flashlight and laid his gun hand on the flashlight, ready for what was to come.

There was still nothing. Lots of old shelves, mostly empty, but some of them sporting old paint cans. All was covered in dust. He let the light of the flashlight graze the floor. Footsteps had cleared the floor of the dust.

Sam cautiously followed the trail and was met by a door that most likely would hold a small office. Sam's heart beat even faster when he saw light shining under the door. He was so close. He took a deep breath and tentatively pushed the door open, gun trained at whatever was inside.

The room was empty. Only an old desk and a shelf were lit by a bare light bulb. On the far side from the door was another door that stood open, but the room behind it wasn't lit so Sam couldn't have a look at it yet. He stepped inside the office and held the flashlight to the dark room, when something small and cylindrical rolled out from there.

It took his brain only a split second to realize what it was. But as the word _stun grenade_ lit all the alarm bells in his head, it was already too late to kick it away or even close his eyes. It exploded.

It was awful. Too many sensations crammed into such a short time. The world went white and he tried to shield his eyes with his arm from the incredibly bright light that took away his vision. The clang of the flashlight falling to the floor was cancelled out by an infernally loud bang that made his ears ring. He realized that he was kneeling on the floor now, when all became too quiet. One loud tone in his ears was all that he could hear. He had to cough, but couldn't see why, everything was white.

He felt nauseous and had to lower himself to a cowered position on the floor, coughs still wrecking his body. The worst part was that he had no orientation at all. Only the floor that he could feel under his desperately clenched fingers. He was still clutching his gun like a drowning person a life belt, but he knew that it would bring him jack shit with his completely whited out vision. He had walked into a trap. Like a compliant little pet. It was embarrassing, really.

Sam suddenly felt something at his side when his body was roughly turned onto his back. He tried to blink to see something, and black and grey spots began to mix with the white ones, but he couldn't make out anything. He moved his gun up, fully determined to empty it anywhere to maybe get a lucky shot. But instead, his hand was crushed and slammed hardly into the floor by what had to be a boot. Sam knew that he screamed, because it hurt like hell and he really hoped that he didn't break a finger, but he couldn't hear a sound.

The gun was taken away and two hands started to invade his body, searching for weapons. Sam struggled, lashing out everywhere and his strength and large arm span made him have a lucky hit when his left fist sank into something soft. His assailant stopped for a second.

Until something hard smashed against his head and made him hiss in pain (most likely, he still couldn't hear anything). When Sam didn't cease with his struggling, he felt something heavy on his chest and shortly afterwards a large piece of metal in his mouth.

Sam immediately froze. With all his other senses shut off, he could feel the cold metal on his tongue, and clicking to his teeth as he reflexively swallowed, even clearer. The taste of iron and gunpowder so much too close for comfort felt like the most explicit death threat of them all.

It was like time stood still for minutes, Sam's whole cosmos turning just around the barrel of the gun that was not moving an inch.

When Sam finally remembered to breathe, the gun was slowly drawn back. _Thank god!_ It was now resting against his throat, but all was better than the abominable thing before. He could finally think again, although the metallic aftertaste in his mouth stopped him very effectively from doing anything as the hands continued their search. He heard a voice mumble something, but the ringing in his ears was still too loud to hear words over it.

The weight on him lifted and he was turned around and searched some more. His eyes improved a bit, he began to see weak outlines of grey shapes, and he hoped that they would transform into colours soon.

The search seemed to be over, there were handcuffs fastened around his wrists and he was yanked up by his shoulders. Two people took him at his left and right side, guiding him like the blind person he was at the moment. But not only that. Now that he was moving, he got the feeling that something with his head was wrong. He felt like the world was swaying, even though he could only see schemes. If he walked on his own, he was sure that he would end up on his rear in a matter of seconds.

Still, being handled like a lamb on the way to the slaughter felt awful.

And that was when the full consequences hit him. He had walked into a trap that could've only been laid out by the people who kidnapped Dean. With Sam they had now captured his only chance of escape together with a – if not the - most precious bargaining chip one could have against Dean Winchester. _Fuck._ And Sam still had no idea who the kidnappers were. If he would have been in any other position, he might have asked, but his ears were still ringing and he could only stagger along in the unrelenting grip of his assailants.

Finally he was able to see clearer, the colours came back although all was still pretty blurry. But he could see that the men holding him were massive brutes, in height not so much as in width. And they were heading to two red smudges that Sam couldn't really focus on. Must be the red cars. No surprise there. Sam hated it that although his vision improved, he was still feeling dizzy and disorientated and he couldn't really focus on anything. Everything was swimming and the ground was moving, giving him the constant feeling of missing a step. Thank god there were those helpful goons assisting him with his problem, Sam thought with a touch of gallows humour.

They had reached the SUV now, and Sam's large frame was cramped awkwardly into the legroom of the backseats. He dully looked at the black leather at the backside of the driver's seat mere inches from his face while trying to bring his long legs into a more comfortable position. When he felt the space getting even tighter, he wanted to turn his head to see the cause of it. However, the sole of a heavily profiled boot laid itself on his neck, not pushing, only threatening. Great, one of the goons was in the backseat with him, so no chance in hell to get out of the handcuffs. When he felt slight vibrations, he knew that the engine had started. The boot hadn't moved from his neck. Sam irritatedly groaned to himself. This was going to be a long ride.

* * *

AN: So, this chapter was fun to write, I guess I like writing kidnappings *awkwardly looks around if that makes me creepy*. Anyway, I hope you liked it, let me know what you think :)

And I'm not sure yet if I'll be able to post the next chapter before Christmas, so if not I wish you all the best for Christmas and a Happy New Year!


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

 _"_ _What the hell have you done to him?!"_

* * *

Now

* * *

Dean was practically trembling with anger in his bonds.

Eve stepped into his line of sight as she inspected Sam's face.

"Nothing yet. Looks like the after-effect of a stun grenade. Limited hearing, impairment of the equilibrium organ, those things."

The goon to Sam's right nodded.

Ok, so Sam at least wasn't drugged senseless. Although he still looked as if he had just been run over.

Eve murmured something to the goons, and one of them kicked Sam in the back of his legs, landing him on his knees with a gasp.

Dean sighed internally when the goons let go of Sam and went out of the door. Eve turned around to Dean, her back now to Sam.

Dean could once again see Sam's face, and apart from his swollen cheek, he seemed to be ok. Sam's look suddenly darkened, and this time his eyes managed to stay on Dean when he took in his brother's bound frame and bloody arm. He once again began to breathe heavily, and his angry gaze bore into Eve's back determinedly.

Dean could see in his brother's posture that he was about to do something very very stupid. Just when Dean was about to say something to stop Sam from a futile attack that would most likely get him shot on the spot, Clara also noticed.

She had been looking at the scene before her with a wolfish grin, maybe enjoying it all a bit too much, but now she pulled out her gun and rested it on Sam's forehead.

"Oh, oh, you stay there on your knees like a good little dog and I won't put you to sleep. How does that sound?"

Dean trembled in anger. How could this bitch threaten his brother like that? And what sick kind of dog fetish did she have, anyway?

Dean was proud of Sam when he didn't flinch, and Dean could see at the slight easing of his shoulders and posture that he had abandoned his stupid plan. Clara let her gun sink back down, knowing that her message came across.

Eve was rather amused at the whole scene. She now looked from Sam to Dean and back, a disbelieving smile on her face.

"And I thought you were a handful, Dean. Looks like it runs in the family," she chuckled softly.

"Who are you?" Sam asked Eve. He was obviously recovering, his eyes only shifted a bit and he had his determined look back. This inquisitive look that he threw at Eve flooded Dean with more relief than he would later admit. Seeing Sam back to his old self was reassuring.

"I'm Eve Frank." When she saw no reaction from Sam, she elaborated. "You might have known my cousin Monroe and his family, the Stynes."

It hit. Sam's eyes widened and he stole a quick and nervous glance towards Dean. If Sam thought he was in deep shit before, it was nothing to the ocean of excrements they were really in. Dean saw the realization that they had been taken for the sole purpose of revenge dawn on his brother's face. This was deeply personal.

"You forgot to mention that you made a deal with a demon and kill your patients in exchange for a longer life," Dean chimed in to keep Sam in the picture.

Eve whipped her head towards Dean, a murderous look on her face. Obviously didn't like spoilers, the old frump.

Steps at the door interrupted them, and the two goons came back, carrying a big tub full of water.

Dean only knew one reason why Eve might need a tub of water, and he didn't like it at all. The only question was if he or Sam would end up as the one being dunked. But Dean already had a strong suspicion as he changed worried looks with Sam. Sam, who was the new toy in the moment. Eve would play with him, and Dean could only hope that she would decide to keep him around for longer, because if not… his brother would end up with a bullet in his head.

The tub was placed in the middle of the room, and Eve dismissed the two men.

"I originally planned this for you, Dean, but since your brother decided to spring the trap I set for him, he will get the honour."

Dean knew that Eve hadn't taken her eyes off him, observing every smallest reaction. And he was torn. He wanted to shout at her to leave Sam alone, to settle the score with him, not his brother, but he knew that Eve wouldn't agree. She was an evil bitch and the more Dean would show how much she could hurt him over Sam, the more she would actually hurt Sam. So Dean put on his poker face and remained silent.

Eve shrugged and turned to Sam who was still kneeling on the floor, knees spread a bit for more stability. But it was useless. Eve dug her fingers into Sam's hair and twisted relentlessly, making Sam groan in pain and awkwardly trying to support his weight with his feet as he was dragged to the tub.

The tape around his neck was straining as Dean leaned forward, trying once again to get out, to get to his brother. And Eve noticed. Sure she did.

"You've got something to say?" She asked, sick amusement sparkling in her eyes.

"Let him go, your hassle is with me not him." fuck it, Dean had to try talk her out of it, although it had next to no chances. But since he was completely trussed up it was the only thing he could do.

"But he's your family," Eve countered, "remember what you did with my family? We will come out even at the end, don't worry." And with that she pressed her arm down, not giving Sam any time to get a good breath before his face hit the water.

"No! Let him up!" Dean struggled once again, not noticing how his broken bones jarred in his fingers or that his arm started bleeding again. He could just see how Sam struggled with everything he had to get his head back up. But with his hands behind his back and Eve's good angle, all he did was exhaust his oxygen sooner. Dean saw the precious bubbles dissolve at the surface. He dully wondered if she would let him up again or if he would be forced to watch Sam drown.

Thankfully she loosened her hold just as Sam's shoulders sank down in defeat. He went up and sucked in huge breaths, the panicked look on his face nearly concealed by long strands of his hair wetly sticking to his face, but Dean saw it anyway. And hated it. Nearly as much as he hated Eve in the moment. She only let Sam take two – no, make that one and a half – breaths until she dunked him again. _Sadistic bitch!_

She repeated the process, barely giving Sam enough air until she let him up again. And Dean repeated struggling against the bonds, and shouting at her to let Sam go, but it was utterly useless. When she once held Sam so long that he couldn't possibly have any air left, and still held him down when his shoulders shook, indicating heavy coughing, Dean snapped.

"You inbreeding fucking demon whore! Let him go!"

That finally gave him her attention. She casually let go of Sam who more rolled his head out of the tub than he lifted it. He made a miserable wet coughing heap on the floor.

Eve was by Dean immediately and punched his face. Hard. But at least she was leaving Sam alone for the moment. Dean took three of the nasty punches until Eve had calmed down a bit. However, her eyes were still boring daggers into his.

"Your manners leave a lot to be desired, Dean. I think you urgently need a lesson."

Dean wondered for a second if Eve with her seventy years was easier offended by insults, before he took in the rest of the sentence. A lesson didn't sound good.

He stole a quick glance to Sam, who was only coughing occasionally now.

"I'm sure the lesson will have something to do with your lovely little brother."

Dean's head whipped to his right. He had almost forgotten that Clara was still there, now grinning knowingly.

Eve chuckled, nodded and went to Sam.

"What…No! Leave him alone!" Fear once again clenched his heart as Eve went on and kneeled next to Sam.

 _Would she kill him? Just to make a point?_

His fear impossibly even intensified when she pulled a scalpel from her pocket and set her hand on Sam's throat. _No!_ Sam had also seen the scalpel and weakly backed away until the tub at his back stopped him. Eve gave him a disapproving look and bent over, whispering something in Sam's ear. He looked at her with wide eyes, but whatever she said, it made him stop squirming and hold still as she once again went for his throat. She prodded a bit more and Dean was about to say something when she quickly dove in with her scalpel, making an inch long vertical cut just under Sam's chin.

Immediately blood pooled out. It was a lot. It was running down Sam's throat and mixed with the water still dripping from his hair and made a huge red stain on his shirt. Sam looked totally perplexed at the blood pooling out of his body, nearly as shell shocked as Dean was.

"Sam!" Dean croaked out, he had had lost his voice for a few seconds. He felt horrible. Watching Sam bleed to death, unable to do anything, and worse – being ultimately responsible for it – was the worst thing he could imagine.

Sam looked paler by the second, and his eyes, locked with Dean's, slowly fell shut.

Dean was desperately thinking about something, anything that he could do, but his mind was blank.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk… if there was only someone in this room able to save him."

Eve's words needed some seconds to reach Dean's grief stricken brain, and he wasn't sure if he got them right.

"What?" He sounded much too weak for his own taste, and he noticed wetness on his face.

Eve still kneeled beside Sam, whose bloodstain had now reached the waistband of his trousers.

"I give you a choice. Sam will bleed to death in about two minutes. You can watch that or you lose your attitude and beg me to save him."

Hope hit Dean like a spring tide. Eve was really crazy if she thought that he would let Sam die just to keep up his attitude.

"Please, save him. Stitch him up. I beg you." Maybe that came a bit too quick to not sound completely desperate, but that was what he felt like in the moment. He would think about later when Sam was out of mortal danger.

"That was not so hard, was it? Although I hope that you know that you condemned your little brother to more torture with that decision." She nodded to Clara who was already carrying a bag and went to Eve and Sam with it.

Dean watched helplessly as Sam's eyes jerked wide open when Eve inserted a needle at his throat. Clara held his head down and Dean would have cursed her had he not known that this time, it was really helping.

Dean could just stand at his pipe, watching, trembling and hoping that Eve would really save his brother. He couldn't see much, but the two women backed away from Sam sooner than he would have expected. No new blood. Just some stitches over his throat. He was blinking groggily. Dean sacked back against his pipe with relief.

He had closed his eyes for some seconds, but was brought back to reality by Eve next to him. This time she hadn't managed to stay clean. Her hands and arms were full of blood.

"I hope you realize that if you act up again, I will not save your brother. I will just kill him right before your eyes. Understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am." If words could freeze over, these two would have done it. Eve stared back just as coldly, nodded once and turned around.

She seemed to search for something. Dean heard her mumble something about heavy prisoners and unfitting rooms under her breath, before she went to Clara and grabbed her bag. She produced a syringe and unceremoniously stabbed it in Sam's neck. Sam's eyes jerked wide open for a second, but whatever stuff was in the injection made him drowsy and his eyes fell shut again. Eve contemplated for a second and jabbed another syringe into Sam's neck and emptied it. This time he didn't react at all.

When Clara shot her an asking glance, Eve explained.

"I need my sleep. This will knock him out for at least ten hours, so we can continue tomorrow. And unless you want to tie that obviously very heavy fella to one of the pipes on the ceiling, the injection is the best option. It is better anyway, I heard rumours that they make a habit of working together and escaping." The last words Dean could only adumbrate for the women were retreating to the door. Without a look back, the door closed and shortly after, the light went out.

"Sam?" Dean had to try it, but there was no response. He held completely still and there it was. He could hear soft breathing from his brother. It was balm to his torn emotions. He was alive for now and would be until tomorrow. It was a very small consolation, but Dean was willing to take everything that he could get.

As the moon hit the water in the tub that still stood behind Sam and painted the room in soft waves, Dean clung desperately to Sam's breaths, so reassuringly regular that Dean fell in sync with them and drifted into a calm and spent state.

* * *

AN: Whew, another long chapter written, and still no break for the boys... let's see what comes next ;)  
Sorry to the people who wanted more physical Dean torture, but I had to make Eve exploit that she had caught Sam. I hope it was angsty enough nonetheless. Please let me know what you think :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Dean shivered violently. He felt damn cold and his body was reaching its limits, standing in the same position for so long.

Earlier, when he came down from his emotional rollercoaster – where he thought Sam dead for a while, god dammit – he had been just tired and weary, but now as the cold and pure exhaustion settled in, sleep was as far away as the sun. It was still night and Dean had no idea how he could keep up until next morning. And who said that Eve would change anything about his position, she seemed to be pretty happy with seeing him suffer.

Like every time his thoughts went into this dark direction he looked at Sam. His moon-bathed face looked much too peaceful for the whole situation, and Dean feared what awaited him when he would be awoken in the morning.

He couldn't subdue a frustrated growl. If they had just left Sam conscious. He would at least have someone to talk to. Being here with an unconsciously drugged brother was just daunting.

Sam groaned.

Wait. Didn't Eve predict that he would be unconscious until the next morning?

But Dean would never look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Sam? Sammy! Wake up, come on!"

Sam stirred even more, and he squinted his eyes in pain.

"Dean? What the hell did you make me drink last night?"

Dean chuckled, firstly because his brother thought that he was hung over, and secondly because it was so Sam – having a problem and making Dean responsible for it at the first opportunity.

"No, this time it wasn't me. But Eve gave you some of the good stuff," Dean looked at Sam, and he could practically see the memories come back. His face went darker and darker, until he mumbled a heartfelt "Fuck."

He finally opened his eyes with another groan and looked at Dean.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. By the way, I'm not complaining, but why are you awake? As I know, Eve pumped you to the rim with narcotics."

Sam used his long legs to shift himself into a sitting position, back against the tub of water. "I don't know. My best guess is that my body somehow adjusted to narcotics when I had Lucifer in my head. They didn't work back then, maybe that finally has something good…" he trailed off, and suddenly looked very alerted.

"Dean! That's our chance! They don't expect me to be awake, we have to escape!"

Dean really wanted to think as positive as Sam, but he had tried before and although Sam was awake, their situation was still worse than crappy.

"Hey, I'm the first to jump at every escape attempt, but we're both bound, and the door is locked and has a heavy latch on the outside. We're screwed, Sam."

Sam grinned conspiratorially and bent forward, fumbling with the hands behind his back. Dean began to get a clue. "You don't…"

"Yes, I have," and the beginning soft sound of metal on metal sounded better than anything else could in the moment, "I'm carrying a hairpin under my belt since those Vampires grabbed me as takeaway meal."

Dean was so relieved that the details just reached his mind when the cuffs clanked to the floor and Sam stood up.

"Dude, you're carrying a hairpin? That's –"

"Shut up or I leave you at your pipe."

Dean chuckled, but Sam came over anyway. It felt good, exchanging banter with Sam again.

Sam began to fumble at the tape around his wrists, when a lance of pain shot through Dean's hand. He drew in a pained breath.

"Dean! What's wrong?"

"That bitch Eve broke two of my fingers, that's wrong!" Dean pressed through gritted teeth. "Nearly forgot it with all that has happened."

Sam cursed, but soon returned to his task, this time much more gentle. It felt like hours until Sam found the part where the tape stuck together. Dean wanted to complain that Sam had better brought a knife instead of a hairpin, but Sam most likely had. They must have taken his knife away, too.

Finally Sam managed and unwind the tape from his wrists. The last part stung on his hands, but not as much as the blood flowing back.

Sam was already starting at his neck, and Dean was relieved about that. He wouldn't be able to get the tape off with his numb hands.

Sam was getting faster and Dean sighed with relief as his last restraint was taken away. He immediately took a step away from the damn pipe, and the next thing he knew was that Sam caught him shortly before his head could hit the floor. His legs had given in completely.

"Damnit, Dean!" Sam groaned under the unexpected weight as he helped his brother sit down, "How long have you been standing there?"

Dean wanted to do anything other than sit down in the moment, but he had no other choice, "Maybe around two days…listen, I'm good, just need a small break."

"What other injuries do you have?" God, Dean hated that reproachful mother hen attitude.

"Nothing! Just a sprained foot and some cuts on my back."

Sam gave him a dark look, but abstained from telling him that that was far from nothing.

"You?" Dean asked back, concerned that Sam also had more injuries than he could see.

"I'm fine. I'll have a look at the door, you rest your legs," and with that Sam went off.

Dean hated to be left like useless ballast, but relaxing his legs felt so good that he quickly reconsidered. Who'd have thought that sitting down could be such a bliss.

"The door's pretty heavy, the lock too good for the hairpin and the hinges are on the outside. Guess our luck ran out," Sam gave the bad diagnosis, shoulders sacked down. "Even if I throw myself against it, thanks to the latch they will hear us long before the door gives in."

 _Couldn't it just once be easy?_

"Ok," Dean began, trying to get up but immediately abandoned the project, "Then we need plan B. We wait for them to come back, grab their weapons and kill them."

"That's a terrible plan, Dean."

"You got anything better?"

Sam sighed. "No, but – "

"Listen, until now they only came in as a pair, always Eve and Clara or Ron. Eve doesn't carry a weapon – well she might be coalesced with her scalpel, but just Clara or Ron carry a gun. So we rearrange the tape like I'm still tied, you play unconscious, I get Eve to come to me, and you kick whoever she has with her's ass and take their gun. We've pulled off more impossible stunts."

Dean thought his plan was brilliant, but Sam was not so confident. Finally he nodded, clearly because he couldn't come up with something better.

"When do you think she'll come back?"

"When she drugged you she said you would sleep for at least ten hours – which you undercut massively – she said she needed to sleep so I guess we can rest until the sun rises. After that we should get ready to still look bound." Hopefully his legs would have recovered by then.

They spent the remaining night relaxing (Dean) and nervously shuffling about (Sam), while Dean filled Sam in on what he knew about Eve and why they needed to kill her (because she condemned innocent souls to hell).

Dean soon felt better, he could even walk over to the tub and get some precious water.

When light began to reach through the window, Sam arranged the tape back around Dean, with the difference that it wasn't connected in the back.

Dean's legs still hurt, but the break had been heavenly. It'd look suspicious anyway if he'd been too lively when Eve showed up.

Sam was lying down in front of the tub again, hands concealed behind his back, the empty handcuffs safely hidden under him.

They waited in tense silence, too concerned that someone nearing the cell would hear them if they spoke and thus thwarting their plan.

Dean's heart raced, but this time it was excitement. They had a chance. A real one. He would fight with everything that he had to get out of here, or to at least get Sam out.

Finally they heard steps coming nearer. Dean gave Sam a last reassuring look before his brother closed his eyes and played unconscious. Dean sagged a bit more against the pipe and waited for the door to open.

Eve came in, again with Clara in tow, and Dean internally sighed in relief when nobody else came with them.

"Eve," Dean said, steering her away from Sam, "any chance you'll let me out of this duct tape? It would be embarrassing for both of us if I strangled myself and died on the q.t. next night, wouldn't it?"

Eve came towards him, and maybe it hadn't been a good idea to call her attention on the tape, but Clara also made a step towards him what brought her into the reach of Sam's legs.

And Sam wasted no time, he swept her feet away with all his strength. Clara yelped in surprise and Sam instantly went for her gun. Clara must have hit her head, for her arms weakly went to her weapon, but she couldn't keep Sam from getting it.

Sam played it safe and smashed the gun's butt against her already broken nose with full force, tearing an awful scream from Clara.

Sam was rarely that brutal. Normally Dean was the violent one while Sam was more graceful, only when he was desperate or really angry this side of his brother showed.

The whole interaction had only taken a few seconds, and Eve was clearly taken by surprise. She had made a step towards Sam, her back to Dean, but stilled when Sam trained the gun at her.

Sam hesitated for a moment and a small shiver of doubt grew in Dean if his brother would be determined enough to just shoot a dangerous but in the moment defenceless woman.

But Dean saw himself corrected. Three shots rang out and Eve's body twitched with them. Sam had hit her straight in the chest.

It was the concern in Sam's face that helped Dean realize that something was off. Eve's body refused to fall down. Dean had thought that it was just the adrenaline that made time seem slower, but by now she really had to lay dead on the floor. Which she refused to. She took two heavy breaths and stomped towards Sam, spitting out curses. Sam backed up and shot two more bullets, this time at her head, but she just jerked twice, and Dean saw two deformed bullets clang to the ground before she went on.

Dean finally got out of his rigor. Whatever Eve was, she was invulnerable. Or at least bulletproof. Dean pushed himself off the pipe and at Eve. He reached her just before she reached Sam, and Dean rammed her with all his weight, latched onto her back and made them both crash to the floor hard.

Eve groaned under him, clearly surprised by the attack. Dean began to feel very uncomfortable. He had no idea what Eve was capable of, her stunt with the bullets might be only a part of her real powers. So he did the best thing he could do in the moment.

"Get out!" he shouted at Sam, at the same time jumping off Eve and towards the door as fast as he could. He nearly ran into Sam when he crossed the threshold, and Sam quickly shut the door and bolted it with the latch.

"Ok, that was not going according to plan, but I don't complain," Dean gave the still shaken-looking Sam a weak smile.

A loud bang at the door brought him back to reality. He quickly scanned the hallway, glad that he had paid attention earlier.

"Come on, I'm sure someone heard the shots and will come looking. Over there!" Dean started towards the garage. When he opened the door he thanked god for overly rich villains with a thing about order. There was a key holder with a key just at the door! He took it, and sadly the damned red SUV opened when he pressed the button, and not the racy black Mercedes sports car, but this was not the right time to be choosy.

Dean tossed the key to Sam, and his brother understood without words that he would be better suited to drive. When Sam turned the ignition, Ron came running into the garage.

"Fuck, hurry up!"

Sam pushed down on the accelerator and drove straight at the closed roller shutter. Shots rang behind them.

"Down! And hold tight!" Sam managed through clenched teeth, white knuckles wrapped around the steering wheel.

Dean clasped the seat and the car shook heavily, but rolled on. Some scratches in the windshield and it looked as if one of the lights was crashed, but they were out. Dean saw that the rear window had two shotholes and immediately looked at Sam, making sure that he was ok.

He didn't have to tell Sam to hurry up, they both just wanted to get away. Dean squinted his eyes. It was strange, fleeing from something in broad daylight. When they turned onto a bigger road, and there was still nobody chasing them, Dean broke the exhausted silence. "We should stop at the next parking lot or motel and change cars, so they can't come after us… Besides, I really don't like this car."

Sam shot him a half-grin. "What, you also had the pleasure of a ride in the footrest?"

"The trunk."

Their joint chuckling quickly grew into laughter when the strain of the previous days finally eased and they realized that they escaped. Only one downer wouldn't let go of Dean.

"We'll still have to gank Eve…"

Sam calmed down and nodded, "could be difficult though, those bullets fell right off her…"

"Yeah, we figure something out – there! A parking lot."

Sam stopped, and before he could shut off the car, Dean was out of the door.

"You go look for a car, I'll be right back!" He shouted towards Sam.

"Wait Dean, what are you doing?" Sam was a bit concerned why Dean was suddenly in such a hurry.

"I am _finally_ taking a leak, Sammy!" That could have gotten out more forceful than he planned, but Sam's face gaining a hint of red and his hasty nodding was just a sight to behold.

* * *

AN: Soo, this chapter was really difficult for me, and I'm sorry that it took me so long. And I originally wanted to make one more chapter of Dean torture, but I – and I know, it's embarrassing – couldn't come up with something original that left Dean intact enough to still flee…So, I'm also sorry for that. But don't worry, there will be more in store for the boys, they still have to kill Eve and trust me, that won't be easy ;). I also might include Crowley in the next chapter, I like him a lot, so that could be fun. Please tell me what you think of this chapter :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Dean slowly awoke. He felt good, rested. His limbs were heavy, but it was a good heavy. He shifted to his belly, wanting to stay in this nice state of slight slumber a bit longer. But he had forgotten about his hand, which now angrily drew attention to itself. Sam had taped his hand together the day before to stabilize his broken fingers, but moving it still hurt.

Dean decided this as a good moment to get up. With a bit of fumbling he put on his clothes and went to the bunker's main room, limping just slightly.

Sam was already there, staring at something on his laptop. Cas was absent, but that was no surprise, when they came back yesterday he had been passed out over the same laptop Sam was now using, obviously he tried to find out about their whereabouts while still being too sick to do so. At least they had been able to awake him and he had been pretty relieved. They had spent the next half hour explaining to him that he could not heal their wounds in his weak state, until he collapsed again.

"Hey."

Sam jerked his head up at the voice of his brother.

"Dean, you're awake. Are you alright?"

Dean only grunted at that and looked at his hand. He would have to go to a hospital if he didn't want crooked fingers for the rest of his life.

Sam ushered him on a chair and took a look at the rest of his wounds. They had quickly disinfected and wrapped them yesterday, but now they unfortunately had time for a more thorough examination.

Dean hissed slightly as Sam prodded at the stitches on his back and at the clamps that still made his arm look like it was wearing a chainmail.

"It's not inflammated, if we keep it clean and wrap it up it will all heal nicely," Sam gave his final diagnosis. Dean didn't like it.

"Can't we just get rid of those damned clamps? They sting and it looks just awful," no, he definitely didn't sound whiny while saying that.

"Dean, it would be a total mess pulling them out. And I prefer not to spend two hours stitching you up to get a worse result. They stay."

Oh how Dean hated that parent attitude in his brother. Even more when it made sense what he said.

Cas took that moment to walk in – or more accurately stagger in. The deep red circles under his eyes looked even worse and he was pale as a ghost.

"Cas," Dean said firmly, "You look awful, go back to sleep."

He let himself sink into the chair next to Dean instead.

"I remember you two coming back yesterday, but I seem to have forgotten what happened after."

"You passed out, that's what happened," Dean quickly filled him in.

Cas looked down for a moment, clearly trying to remember. When he looked up again, he was already lifting his hand. "Dean, you are hurt –"

Dean quickly moved away. "No, Cas! You're sick yourself, you can't waste energy on healing me."

"Dean, I have enough energy, healing you won't affect me."

"It will, as you can clearly not even stand on your own feet in the moment."

"I did just walk in here –"

"Stop!" Sam intervened, interrupting the argument. He took two deep breaths, giving them a look that would make every mother of quarrelsome children green with envy.

"If you really want to, you can try to heal him," he lifted a hand before Dean could protest, "But – you just heal his fingers and we see how you are after that."

That compromise was not such a bad idea. Dean moved his taped hand to Cas and he laid his hand over it. The already familiar prickling feeling of being healed by an angel enveloped his hand, and the pain was gone. Castiel opened his eyes. "See, I told you that I am capable –" when his eyes rolled back, Dean had to catch Cas before he hit his head on the table. He was unconscious again, a small rivulet of blood flowing down his nose. Dean exchanged a look with Sam and they both took him back to his room and left him on the bed, covered in blankets.

On the way back, Dean got rid of the tape and wriggled his fingers. They were completely healed.

"They Ok?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, but I'm not gonna let him heal anything else, that will clearly make him stay in bed even longer."

Sam just nodded. He went back to his computer while Dean went to the kitchen to find something to eat. He was famished.

"You found anything out yet?" he asked while rummaging in the fridge.

"Yeah, but only about Eve. According to its website, she works in the Saint Thomas Hospital. Eve Frank, M.D. Works in cardiovascular surgery since 2004 and has a certificate from the NYU School of Medicine which is most likely fake since she's seventy years old. Oh, and she has excellent reviews from lots of happy patients."

Sam stopped his lecture just when Dean found a leftover burrito from yesterday's ride back. He began to dig in and went back to Sam.

"Ok, so our Health System sucks. Maybe we should go ask them to include the opinions of the dead patients, Eve would get sacked on the spot," Dean mumbled around his burrito.

Sam snorted and went back to his computer. "There is a Clara listed as nurse, but I don't know if it's her, there are no pictures on the website. I couldn't find anything about a Ron."

Dean swallowed. "Ok, I guess Eve has to be our top priority, no idea how much Clara and Ron are involved," Dean thought about that for a second, "Well, they seem to be involved with each other…hey, do you think Clara with her dog fetish puts him on a leash –"

"Dean! Just – stop."

Dean shrugged and went back to his meal. "You found something about those special demon deals?" he asked while munching away at the second half.

Sam gave him an annoyed glance. "Actually no, there is nothing. Not on the internet, not in the archive. Just the ten year contracts we already know, nothing else."

"So," Dean swallowed, "you think she lied to us? Or is it just a rare thing?"

Sam sighed. "I think it's the latter. I mean you saw the bullets not scratching her skin. A deal could have given her invulnerability in exchange for souls…But we can't be sure unless we ask someone who knows." Sam shot a meaningful look to his brother who just gaped at him, bits of burrito falling out of his mouth. He collected himself and swallowed.

"No way Sam, you told me last time you met Crowley he wanted to kill you!"

"Because I wanted to kill him first, but he didn't follow through. If there are other deals than the ones we know, Crowley as king of hell will know about them. He's our best shot!"

Dean thought about that for a while. It was risky summoning Crowley, but it was more risky to not know what they were up against with Eve. He sighed. "Ok, we'll summon him, but not without some angel blades and a shitload of salt and holy water."

They went to work, the last scraps of Dean's breakfast forlornly on the table.

* * *

"Well, if this isn't Thelma and Louise calling me again."

They quickly turned at the voice from behind, and Dean could have foreseen that Crowley wouldn't appear in the devil's trap they painted in the secret room in the archives. He stood there with his usual nonchalance and black suit, although he looked a bit irritated.

"As you might imagine, I have enough work to do already, and I wanted to ignore your call until I thought that I could take this chance and finally get rid of my probably oldest problem still alive. The two of you!"

Ok, Crowley shouting his last sentence was really a sign that he was pissed. Dean gripped his angel blade tighter. "Well, you can try, but you can also listen first. We met a woman, Eve Frank, who said she made a deal with a demon. She kills some of her patients, sends their souls to hell, and in return she gets a longer life and invulnerability. Ring any bells?"

The demon frowned. He seemed to be out of his deadly mood. For the moment.

"Interesting…," he mused, "I have actually forbidden these deals."

"You have forbidden something that brings souls to hell? Doesn't sound like you," Dean threw in.

Crowley gave him an annoyed look. "Well, I have seen the outcome of a misshappened spell. You know, sending souls to hell that don't belong there is not easy. It's a complicated ritual and if the human messes it up, it's bad for both the demon and the human. The demon was practically inside out. Not fixable. And pretty gross walking around like that, too. I just wanted to stop the too ambitious demons from something that might kill them. I need them for business."

"Ok, that does sound more like you. So how exactly do those deals work?"

Crowley was visibly indecisive, but settled with a deep sigh. "Ok, I'll help you. But only if you two kill that bitch Eve permanently. The demon she is in league with is one of my biggest adversaries, and I wanted him dead for a long time. Killing Eve Frank would at least cut him off his supply of souls."

"Sure. You tell us how to kill her and we'll do it happily," Dean threw a fake grin to Crowley who just huffed.

"You should know that these deals require more than a kiss to be sealed. You could say that it's the closest bond a demon and a human can possibly have – well, except for maybe you, Sam, and your little demon whore. See how much more you could have gotten out of that liaison? - Ah, no, who am I kidding. Ruby was way too intelligent for that, she just gave you a little of her blood and you did everything she wanted."

Dean inconspicuously looked at Sam while Sam just gave Crowley an annoyed and angry glance. "Cut the crap, Crowley. Are there any conditions or weak points in the deal?"

"Oh, Sam," Crowley made a step towards Sam, smug grin on his face, "don't get all hot and bothered, you are not suitable for such a deal. It has to be someone deeply trusted."

Sam just shot him his patented bitchface and Crowley once again huffed. "In the end, the human gets protected by a spell, which gives him a longer life and an impenetrable skin. But luckily, every spell can be broken. This one by a blade drenched in goat's blood."

Dean pricked his ears. "So we just stab her with a knife with goat's blood and she croaks?"

"Am I speaking unclear? Yes, she does. And now I have to get back to work," he made a short pause, and continued angrily, "and if you ever summon me again because you have a small problem or you have an itching someplace, I will finally satisfy my desire for your deaths. Extensively."

And with that, he vanished.

Dean looked at Sam, who had been unusually quiet during the conversation, probably because he didn't want to upset Crowley even more.

"That went better than I thought."

Sam just shrugged. "Sounds reasonably for me. Now we just have to get some blood and find an opportunity to actually stab her."

Dean nodded. He knew that finding a good oppurtunity to stab Eve would be difficult, but at least they had found something that would kill her.

* * *

AN: I'm so sorry for the long wait, I was a bit busy and I really try to make the next update sooner. Next chapter will be back with more action. Please let me know what you think :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Sam looked at his brother, who agitatedly tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. He knew that Dean would have preferred to sit in his own car instead of the huge pick-up they were now in. But his baby was still very much out of order, and for what they planned, this car was much more suitable.

The setting sun bathed everything into a gold hue and it made their slow pace over the street seem peaceful, in stark contrast to their intentions. It had been three days since their escape.

"You sure they will show up?" Dean huffed impatiently.

"Yeah, they'll drive this street just like every other day."

And they sank back into tensed silence. Two minutes later, their target finally showed. A black sleek sports car appeared in the rear view mirror and quickly overtook them. Sam and Dean looked the other way as a precaution, if Eve and Clara by chance saw them, their plan was for naught.

"Here we go, you demon sluts," Dean murmured as he pressed down on the accelerator and the car jumped forward with an angry roar. It didn't take long until they reached the black car, and Dean adapted his speed so he drove behind the two women.

"There," Sam said, but Dean had already seen it and pushed on the throttle, bringing their car besides the black one on the empty street. Dean didn't fully overtake, and when Eve on the driver seat suspiciously looked up at the bigger car, it was already too late. She saw Sam in the passenger seat and her blue eyes widened in surprise, but Dean had already shoved his car to the right, and into Eve's. Sam shook from the impact and held on to his seat as they rushed to their aim. It was risky and they would be lucky to get away with some broken bones if it went wrong. The broad wooden post of the power supply line flew at them, however Dean didn't waver. Eve hit the brakes, but it was already too late. Sam and Dean missed the post by a few inches, but the other car hit it squarely on the driver's side. The noise of the heavy impact competed with the loud squeal of their brakes.

They had to be quick, this street was quiet, but not completely empty. Sam sprang out of the car the same time as Dean, and ran towards the smoking car wreck, hand tightening around the blood covered dagger. It was just their luck that the only weapon able to kill Eve had to be a short distance weapon. Sam really would have preferred a gun.

When Sam arrived at the smouldering car, Eve had already crawled out and was holding herself on hands and knees, coughing heavily. She unsurprisingly had no wounds, but the crash shook her up, that was clear. One glace to the side showed him that Clara was still in the not so damaged passenger's seat, unconscious. Sam wasted no time and brought his knees hardly to Eve's back, to bring her into a disadvantageous position flat on her stomach. But in the last moment, she wriggled around and caught Sam's hand, which had already aimed for her neck with the dagger.

Her eyes shot lightning bolts at Sam, who struggled to bring the dagger further down towards her chest.

"I never thought you'd be that stupid, showing up again," she spat through clenched teeth.

Sam had to add his other hand to the hilt of the dagger. Eve was strong, but not inhumanly. The dagger slowly went closer to Eve, and she did get a slightly concerned look on her face.

Their struggle could have only gone on for a few seconds, nevertheless it felt a lot longer when Dean finally arrived. He had already seen the situation he was coming to and quickly put an end to it with kicking Eve's arm to the side.

It had gone so fast that Eve couldn't react. Her arm was smashed to the side, and she lost the grip on Sam's wrist. The dagger went, still guided by Sam, straight to her chest.

And slid off and buried itself into the ground next to Eve, leaving a big slash in her blue-striped blouse.

"Fuck," Dean mumbled to himself, thoughts tumbling inside his head. _Why hadn't it worked? That damned dagger should have stabbed her._

"Sam, retreat, get back to the car, quick!" Dean hated it with every fiber of his being, but as it seemed, Eve was still invulnerable and in the moment they had no chance against her. The only possibility was to regroup. He wouldn't die here, and he sure as hell wouldn't be Eve's captive again.

Sam was already in the process of launching himself off of Eve, when she grabbed the front of his jacket and made clear that she wouldn't let them go that easily. Sam threw some heavy punches against her head, but she didn't react at all.

 _Fuck_. Dean had to help Sam get away from crazy Eve. He quickly tucked away his knife, after all he and Sam were the only ones vulnerable by it, and was about to grab Eve from behind, when he heard a gun being cocked. _Fuck_. Clara had somehow come out of the car. She looked like she was barely holding it together, bloody nose might have been broken for the third time now by the airbags. She had several cuts in her face, Dean noted. So at least she wasn't having a demon lover that made her invulnerable in the moment.

"Stop it. Hands up," her nasal voice sounded weak, but the gun was still trained on Dean. However, he noticed something else. She was leaning heavily against the side of the car, and her gun-hand was supported by the roof of the car still between them. If Dean made a quick dive, she'd have nothing to aim on. He quickly looked to the side. Eve was still clawing at Sam, who held up for the moment. Clara wouldn't be able to shoot Sam with Eve that close by.

Dean quickly dove down, and made a roll to bring himself against the side of the wrecked car. He hissed when his wounds and his ankle angrily complained, and twitched when he heard a loud gunshot. Clara missed him, thanks for little mercies. Now that he was sheltered from the gun by the car, he had to disarm Clara somehow. The shortest way would be around the front of the car and the post, but that's what Clara would expect. So Dean grabbed the gun from its place in his waistband and made his progress, crouching down, to the back of the car. When he reached the trunk, Eve had Sam on the ground, but her fists were blocked by Sam's hands for the moment. Dean made his move around the corner, gun at the ready. Clara wasn't there. Fuck, she had looked like she couldn't walk two feet, and now she had disappeared.

"Move one inch and you're dead."

Dean immediately froze, all muscles tensed.

She hadn't disappeared, and she hadn't walked further than two feet. Dean shifted his eyes, just the eyes, because he was not suicidal, upward. There she was, sitting on the roof, legs awkwardly bent over the windscreen and still very tattered, but the gun aiming at his head didn't waver. Dean, crouched as he was, was in no position to get away without a bullet to his head.

"Put the gun down," it said a lot about her state that Clara didn't even try to tease him or make a snarky comment. Dean slowly laid the gun down, into close reach of his right hand.

"Shove it away and stand up slowly," and there his plan went. He sighed and gave the gun a shove, then he stood up. At a sign of Clara, he made a step back, she obviously didn't want to be in his arm's reach. Dean desperately thought of things he could do to stop him and Sam from getting killed, but he was once again helpless. He hated it, hated that if Clara or Eve felt like it, they could kill him on the spot. He looked towards Sam, who also couldn't have an exit strategy, since he was still pinned down and holding off Eve, who apparently wanted to scratch his eyes out. After a shout from Clara, Sam saw Dean's predicament and stilled, only to get a juicy punch to his jaw. Dean winced. Sam tried desperately to stay conscious, his eyes attempting to focus on Dean a few times, until Eve had enough of it and dealt out another punch to the head.

Dean ground his teeth when Sam finally blacked out. Eve stood up, strands of hair standing up in awkward angles from her bun. Her eyes blazed with fury when she looked at Dean.

"I promise you, you will regret this," the statement didn't really hit Dean, he was more concerned for Sam in the moment. Besides, it was pretty obvious that she'd want revenge. Eve liked to be in control, and with the crash, they had really shaken her up, she hadn't expected to be the one chased. It was just their luck that the daggers didn't work, otherwise they'd be done with the problem for good. When Eve walked around looking for something on the ground, Dean once again ground his teeth and cursed Crowley and his bad information or his traitorous character trait, whatever got them into this situation.

Eve found what she had been looking for, and went towards Dean, Sam's dagger in hand. Everything in Dean wanted to step back, but if Dean was to die now, he would do it standing up to that demon slut.

But she just addressed Clara: "Call an ambulance, two injured males in a car crash –"

 _Fuck, that didn't sound good, after all, he wasn't injured yet…_

"- both unconscious and not responsive, and one of them with a chest wound."

Eve finally made her way to Dean and fucking winked. "This will be so much fun, Dean. But I will do the work first. It has been a while since my last sacrifice for my demon, and since you two so desperately volunteered yourself, I will take little Sammy as my next offering."

Dean had to let that sink in for a second, and Eve was intent to give him all the time he needed, she practically drank the desperation from his face. He couldn't let Sam be sent to hell, it had nearly broken him the last time.

"You won't be able to, because I swear, I will kill your sorry ass before you lay your dirty fingers on him." His desperation was quickly overcome by anger, which he realized wasn't only directed at the two women before him, but also at himself. He had let it come that far. Again.

Eve just raised her eyebrows and gave Clara's gun a meaningful look. "Your threat is pretty hollow, Dean, don't you think?" When she received nothing but silence, she sighed. "Don't worry, he'll have a relatively quick death, you on the other hand will suffer. And after that, you can join your brother's soul in hell."

 _Yeah, they had really made her angry this time._

"Oh, and about the chest wound... I will stab Sammy," she added, "but just so that his chest cavity is nicked, I do have to make sure that he lands in my department in the hospital, after all."

Dean was about to club the insincere smile from her face, or tell her that she could go screw herself with her fake goodwill, but he underestimated Eve's speed. She struck out quicker than he could react, and the knob of the dagger she still held hit his head. Dean remembered falling undamped to the ground, and his last thought before the black fully claimed him, was that he'd have to wake up quickly to somehow save Sam.

* * *

AN: *insert evil laugh* So, who thought that Crowley's advice would actually work out? And as always, please tell me what you think :)


	13. Chapter 13

AN: Sorry that it took me so long to update, but I had motivational problems. Thanks to you, anonymous guest reviewer, I sat myself down and continued eventually. Reviews do really motivate me :)

 **Chapter 13**

Dean knew that something was wrong. But he wasn't sure if it was worth waking up for. He was in a suspended state, just between sleep and wakefulness and it was a nice place. Aside from the dull throbbing in his head. Now that he concentrated on it, it was more painful by the second.

He opened his eyes with a grown and was greeted by much too bright light. Like in a hospital… Damn, he really was in a hospital.

That was when recollection hit him. _Eve!_ She had knocked him and Sam out, and God, she wanted to kill Sam and sacrifice him in the hospital. _Was it already too late?_ He immediately tried to get out of the bed. He would go and find Sam, or any other person. He had no doubt that he was in the hospital Eve was working in, but it was a hospital, so there were also other people, normal people who he could talk to.

That's when he realized that he was secured to the bed. He let out an angry shout when he found that his wrists were tied to the bed frame. It were soft bindings with a padding, but nevertheless bindings.

A nurse had been startled by his shout and peaked into the room.

"Why am I restrained? And where is my brother, the guy I came in with?" Dean had no time for formalities, he needed answers, and fast, he still had no idea where Sam was and that alarmed him big time.

The nurse, she couldn't be older than 20, continued to look startled. "I'm sorry, I'll try to find a Doctor, I think your brother is in surgery, he had a chest wound from the car accident."

Dean let her slip out of the room without telling her that neither wound he or Sam received came from a car accident but instead from one of the Doctors that worked here.

He had to stop the surgery Sam was having, for he knew that Eve was executing it and that it would end with Sam being sacrificed to her filthy demon. He rattled at the bindings but they were tight and wouldn't budge.

Finally he heard two sets of steps and the young nurse came back, a fifty year old stern doctor in tow, his hair short and tinged with grey.

The Doctor took a clipboard from his bed and nodded to him. "Mr. Winchester. I am Doctor Miller, head of the cardiovascular department here in the Saint Thomas Hospital. I was told by Doctor Frank that you and your brother had a car crash. You were really lucky a Doctor came by. I'm sorry for the restraints, but she told us you were acting aggressive after your head trauma."

Dean really liked to strangle Eve on the spot, but she wasn't here and Sam needed him to stay down.

"Doctor Miller, I don't know what exactly Doctor Frank told you, but I need to see my brother, now!"

"Mr. Winchester," the Doctor began, staying calm like he had most likely done a hundred times with aggravated patients, "Your brother received a wound to the chest which opened his chest cavity. He is in preparation for surgery, because it needs to be sealed, otherwise his lungs could collapse."

Dean knew from the stern look on the Doctor's face that he wouldn't be able to stop the surgery. But maybe something else.

"Has he given his consent to the surgery?" Dean asked, knowing what the answer would be.

"Well, no…but if the patient is unresponsive and needs surgery, we are well allowed to give it."

"But I'm his brother, his next relative, and I demand, in the name of my brother, that someone else than Eve Frank is to do the surgery."

The doctor pulled up his eyebrows, looking suspiciously at Dean. "And why would you _demand_ that?"

Dean sighed. "I know that Doctor Frank has a personal agenda with my brother, and I don't trust her to remain unbiased." Yeah, that sounded definitely better than 'she wants to sacrifice him to a demon'…that would most probably land him in a straitjacket.  
Dean saw an inner conflict in the Doctor, and it was clear that he didn't like the thought of going against Eve, but on the other hand did he have to respect his patient's wishes.

He sighed deeply and adjusted his glasses. Obviously he didn't want to ask more about the personal agenda, he most likely thought that Eve was having something going with Sam, which was disgusting, but Dean couldn't care less in the moment.

"Okay, Mr. Winchester, I don't like to do it, but if you insist I will do the operation myself. But it's really not a big operation, it shouldn't be a problem if Eve does it, personal agenda or not."

"I do insist, I'd really appreciate it if you could do the surgery." That was a really big understatement, but it looked as if Doctor Miller was giving in.

He sighed again and turned to the young nurse, who had stayed. "Go to Doctor Frank and tell her that I will do the operation on the other Mr. Winchester. No objections."

The nurse nodded and went out of the room, and Dean let out a deep breath when the door closed behind her.

"Thanks," he said to the Doctor, "I really appreciate it." And that was total honesty.

"That's ok, I will have to prep for the operation now," the doctor replied, but didn't make his exit just yet. Dean was about to ask him if there was anything else, when the doctor continued.

"I wanted Eve to sacrifice your brother, but now that you insisted, I will sacrifice him myself, to _my_ demon."

Dean actually contemplated if his head trauma could cause very realistic hallucinations for a few seconds, before Doctor Miller's hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his outraged cry.

He completely ignored Dean's struggling, with good cause, it really was futile with his hands secured to the bed railing. He looked a lot less earnest now, grinning sadistically. If anything could deepen Dean's aversion against hospitals, it was probably just that.

"Dean Winchester. I'm surprised that you didn't think of the possibility. I'm sure Eve told you that all she does is a family business," Dean abandoned his idle struggling and saved his energy, "who do you think she learnt it from? I'm her father."

Great, Dean really felt a bit stupid by now. If the Frank family had extremely long lives, it was clear that they didn't want to name themselves both Frank wherever they worked. People would ask dangerous questions. He and Sam should really have thought about something like that.

But it was once again too late. Dean cursed Doctor Miller-Frank with all that he had, but out came only a muffled angry grumble.

Miller-Frank, that self-satisfied bastard, just gave him a lopsided smile and produced a syringe _. Just_ _great!_ Dean rolled his eyes, what earned him an appreciative smile. "I guess you know what this is, it will definitely stop you from doing anything to help poor Sam."

Dean's eyes widened and he struggled with all that he had as the syringe approached his neck. His wrists chafed on the leather when he tried to wriggle his upper body away, anything to not get drugged. But the Doctor just let out an annoyed sigh, readjusted his hold over Dean's mouth and sank the syringe into his neck, ignoring the high wail that was born out of pure desperation.

Dean saw the empty syringe withdraw and felt similarly empty. His toes already started to get numb, the drug was being rushed through his system by his tumultuously beating heart. Unfortunately Doctor Miller's hand stayed clamped over his mouth, otherwise Dean would have screamed for help. But it didn't move, staying as immobile as his body was going to be. There was no escape. Not for him, and not for Sam. A deep melancholia encased him, just as the drug took his body. Sam would die, and after that, he would die. He just wondered if they would really meet in hell afterwards. Dean reared up one more time, probably mostly to show himself that he hadn't given up yet, but he soon stilled, his eyes drooping to half-lidded awareness and the blurry face of the Doctor.

The hand finally let go of his face, but it was too late. Dean was completely paralyzed once again. He could neither scream for help nor scream at the whole unjustness of it all. He might have preferred to be completely knocked out, because now he could just think of what would happen to Sammy as the thrice cursed Doctor Miller-Frank left the room.


End file.
